


Shadows and Reflections

by sigridthehaughty



Category: Battlestar Galactica (1978)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigridthehaughty/pseuds/sigridthehaughty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amnesia. Misunderstandings. Communication difficulties. Maudlin sap. And so forth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows and Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Original story notes: Thanks to Anna, Karen, and Miri for their excellent beta and encouragement.
> 
> First posted to the BSG slash list 8/29/03.

He awoke with a groan, blinking to encourage the hazy blob hovering over him to resolve itself into something recognizable. It turned out to be a dark-haired man. “Awake at last?” the man asked.

He blinked again. Awake. It seemed so. But his head hurt. He tried to raise one hand to touch it, but it was immobilized inside a thick cast. He raised the other to his head and encountered more bandages.

“No complaints about the haircut, okay?” the man continued. “In the grand scheme of things, your skull was more important than your vanity.” The man smiled again. It was hard not to respond to the smile, so he attempted one too.

“Felix got your tongue?”

He moved his tongue experimentally, vaguely wondering whether the foul taste could possibly be due to a felix. The man looked at him quizzically, his expression turning to worry.

“Starbuck? Are you okay?”

Was he Starbuck? Was he okay? He gave a small nod, moving his hand to touch the spot, just above his right ear, where it hurt the most.

“Well, you did get an almighty wallop. But that head of yours is thick. Good thing, huh.” The man’s voice was cajoling now.

He nodded, wanting to offer the desired response. Besides, it probably was a good thing that his head was thick -- it would probably hurt worse if it wasn’t.

And now the man did look worried. “Starbuck? Should I get the doctor?”

He thought about this. Did he need a doctor? He shrugged.

The man pushed a button and he heard a faint buzz. A few centons later, footsteps approached, and then a gray-haired man walked in, his gaze intent on Starbuck.

“Salik,” the man said with relief. “He’s awake, but he’s not talking.”

“A silent Lieutenant Starbuck is, at the very least, unusual,” the doctor said as he stepped to the bedside. “Lieutenant, can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

It had been dark, he thought. There were... loud noises. Explosions? Screams?

The doctor’s voice dropped. “Starbuck, do you know where you are?”

He flicked his gaze from the doctor to the green-eyed man. The doctor was impassive, but the other man looked upset. Starbuck worked his mouth, trying to encourage words to come out.

“Can you tell me the date?” the doctor asked gently.

He hung his head and blushed.

-=-

The blonde woman walked into the room briskly, flashing him a professional smile.

“How are we feeling today?”

Starbuck thought. “Cassie.”

“Starbuck! That’s great.” She flashed him another smile, warmer than the last, then reached out and squeezed his hand.

He returned the smile. People had been flowing in and out of his room, the faces a blur, names jumbling together. “How long has it been?” he asked.

“Nearly fourteen centares,” Cassie replied. “A new record.” She dutifully checked the monitors, then his pulse. “Headaches?”

“No.”

“Pain anywhere?”

Starbuck shifted. “I’d like to walk some. I feel a bit...” He searched for words to try to describe the feeling. It was as if his muscles were limp from disuse, and aching at the same time.

“You keep overdoing it in physical therapy. Take it easier today.”

“Keep overdoing it?” he asked.

“Mmmm. Running true to form in some areas at least.” She grinned impishly and Starbuck smiled back.

Someone rapped at the door and a dark-skinned man stepped in. “We interrupting something?”

“We, Boomer?” Cassie said.

Boomer. Right, Starbuck reminded himself. Boomer took a few more steps into the room, and another man appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Starbuck,” he said.

“Hi, uh...”

“Apollo,” the man replied.

“Right. Of course,” Starbuck said. “So...”

“Boxey -- my son -- wanted me to drop these off for you.” Apollo walked up to the bed and proffered a small hexagonal package. Starbuck lifted the flap and shook the contents out into his hands. Brightly patterned hexagons slid out. Cards, he thought.

“Thanks.” He fingered the cards’ s slick surface. “Maybe someone can teach me how to play, huh?”

Apollo flinched but Boomer said quickly. “Hey, yeah. ’Course. I’ll teach you Sol-Pyramid so you can while away the hours ’til you get out of here.” With a glance at Apollo, Boomer settled himself into a chair while Apollo took up a position at the foot of Starbuck’s bed.

“Thanks. That’d be great.” Starbuck fanned a few of the cards out. The card faces didn’t look familiar. “And thank... thank your son for me,” he said to Apollo. “They look great.”

Apollo nodded, his green eyes on Starbuck’s face. “You’re welcome.”

Starbuck flushed slightly. “So...” he said uncomfortably. “Have you two been busy?”

“Routine,” Boomer said easily. “Patrol. Paperwork.” He waved a hand as if to say ‘etcetera.’

“Um. Same for you?” Starbuck asked the now-silent Apollo.

“Yes. More or less.”

Starbuck thought that the facial expression accompanying the statement was meant to be a smile, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

“And you?” Apollo finally said.

“I have physical therapy to look forward to. Later. And... And, well, and not much else, actually. Except of course that it’s nice of you two to visit.”

“Ah.”

“Well, let me show you how Sol-Pyramid goes, anyway,” Boomer said easily into the growing silence. He took the deck from Starbuck’s hand and began laying out cards on the bed-tray.

-=-

Over the course of the next secton, Starbuck found he was remembering faces -- and was able to put names to them -- even after long periods of time. He became certain of Salik’s and Cassie’s and the other medical personnels’ identities first. With that under his belt, he strove to remember the rest of his visitors. He’d come to hate the tentative expressions they exhibited as they appeared at the doorway to his room, obviously unsure whether he going to remember them this time or not.

How many times, he wondered, had Lieutenant Boomer and the captain and others had to introduce themselves, explain who they were, before he was able to look up and greet them confidently, naturally? If they visited once a day -– and he was pretty sure that some had visited more often than that -- and he’d regained consciousness nearly two sectons ago, it was upwards of ten times apiece. Each.

But Salik said he was pleased with Starbuck’s recovery to date. It would come slowly, he repeatedly warned, and Starbuck shouldn’t push himself too hard. So Starbuck tried to let himself drift -- all too easy because of the meds -- and concentrated on physical therapy for his arm and leg.

And then, finally, Salik agreed that Starbuck was strong enough to wander on his own. At first he had an escort as he familiarized himself with the rest of the ship. And in addition to PT there were flight simulator sessions. And that meant that, for the first time in a long time, there was something to look forward to.

No puzzling over names and faces or the deck of cards and the games people played with him. Just sitting in the simulator seat and reacting, evading, destroying. Seeing the scores improve each time. The adrenalin generated was enough to overcome the effects of his meds -- meds intended to keep vessels in his brain from rupturing. But once the sessions were over and he was forced to return to the Life Center -- either because someone needed to make use of the simulator or because the med staff had tracked him down, he fell back into dreamy somnolence.

Finally they reduced his meds and he felt more alert. And he was instructed to resume more of his former routines, in the hopes that other, previously familiar people and places, would jar his memory into returning.

-=-

She didn’t like him. Everyone else seemed to greet him with a friendly smile and a slap on the back, but that one woman really didn’t like him. He wondered why.

He shuffled the cards in his hand. Boomer had encouraged him to carry around the deck Apollo’s son had given him. “You always have deck of cards at hand, especially during leisure periods,” Boomer had said. And since Starbuck was almost always at leisure these days, the cards never left him.

At least the pyramid deck felt comfortable in his hands even if little else in his life seemed to fit. The shuffling was soothing. The rules of the game were coming back a bit more slowly. As in, barely at all. Boomer tried to teach him, and several others dropped by to play a hand or two, but Starbuck had a hard time counting the cards. The games always ended quickly, trailing off into an awkward silence that he couldn’t help but feel he was expected to fill. Except, he couldn’t remember how.

Starbuck glanced up. The woman caught his eye, glared, then tossed her long brown hair and turned away.

Well, he’d gathered he had a reputation as a ladies’ man. Maybe a disgruntled ex-lover? Or maybe her ego couldn’t stand the fact that he couldn’t remember her.

He scooped up the hands he’d unconsciously dealt and began to shuffle again, stirring restlessly. He was bored. And, as far as he could see, useless.

They seemed to think he’d earned the right to sit in the Officers’ Club and do nothing for centares on end. Faces drifted past him, people left and reappeared, for drinks at the end of their shifts, he supposed. Starbuck just watched.

A hand descended on his shoulder, and Starbuck flinched. “Up for a game?” a voice asked.

“Hey. Boomer,” Starbuck said. Captain Apollo stood behind Boomer, looking grave. But then, he always did. “Sure. Pull up a chair.” He’d had many visitors while in the med center: Boomer and the captain had been two of the constants. But where Boomer felt like a friend, the captain had simply sat in a chair, looking vaguely uncomfortable. It could have been the chairs, of course, but Starbuck felt it was him. It was probably the captain just doing his duty and checking up on the health of one of his men. But something about the man’s green-eyed gaze had always made Starbuck feel on edge.

Starbuck shuffled and reshuffled and dealt out three hands. Picked his hand up, rearranged the cards, put them down and sipped at his water. No ambrosa for him -- it didn’t combine well with his meds, apparently. Maybe that was the reason things were awkward. All his companions seemingly felt guilty that he couldn’t drink, so they didn’t either -- perhaps ambrosa was necessary social lubrication. Captain Apollo, in particular, looked like a man who could use more than a few.

“How are you?” Apollo asked formally.

“Me? Fine. Just fine.” He half-smiled at the captain and ran his finger through his close-cropped hair. His head had been shaved, post-injury, and the stubble had finally grown to the point where it was recognizable as a haircut. The captain watched the gesture, and then his gaze flicked away.

Starbuck picked up his cards again and pretended to study them attentively, suppressing an inward sigh. Captain Apollo, it seemed, didn’t like him much. Maybe Starbuck had been a disciplinary problem. Some of his well-wishers' comments had made it seem as if he’d been a bit of a handful. But no one gave him too many details -- the doctors seemed to have warned everyone that his memory needed to return on its own. If it was, indeed, going to return at all, Starbuck thought grimly. It had been nearly a sectare, after all.

Silence fell, then Boomer made his bid. Apollo followed and Starbuck, after a few centons more deliberation, bid too. Boomer called, and Apollo ended up winning the hand. After Boomer and Apollo tossed their hands down on the table, Starbuck examined them carefully, trying to see what he should have done.

“Another hand?” Boomer asked with a glance at Apollo.

Apollo stood, his lips pressed in a firm line. “No. I... have to report to Tigh. I’ll see you guys around.” With a nod at Starbuck, he left.

Starbuck watched him go, feeling unaccountably wistful. “Doesn’t enjoy my company much, does he?”

Boomer was silent for a moment. “It’s just that you’re different since the accident. He doesn’t quite know how to react.”

“Huh,” Starbuck said noncommittally. “Well, what are you up to this evening?”

“I’m actually on furlon as of now,” Boomer smiled and put his feet up on the chair. “Wanted to know whether you’d be able to accompany me to the _Rising Star_.”

“What? Oh, the pleasure cruiser?”

“Mmm-hmm. A place for drinking. Gaming. And there’s beautiful women.” Boomer waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Well, count me out on the drinking. And I’m not so successful at the gaming, if you haven’t noticed.” Starbuck fanned the deck of cards out on the table.

“There’s still the women,” Boomer pointed out. “Check with Salik and see if you can go.”

Starbuck shrugged his shoulders indecisively, then reconsidered and nodded sharply. “Why the hell not. I’m bored here. Maybe a change would do me good.”

-=-

The _Rising Star_ was filled with people who seemed to be trying to have a great, wild time rather people who actually were having a great, wild time. Starbuck stood holding his glass of water and watched the brightly dressed men and women pursue pleasure at the bar, at the gaming tables, and on cozy couches tucked away in dimly lit nooks. Which was where Boomer had ensconced himself with a suitably nubile partner.

Starbuck sighed and eyed his glass of water. Maybe it would look like more fun if he were drunk, he thought, surveying the scene with a cynical eye. Boomer had stuck by his side like glue, initially, until Starbuck convinced him that, really, Starbuck was quite used to spending time on his own and that Boomer should certainly take the nice young woman up on her offer. Boomer, with a doubtful glance at Starbuck, and then an appreciative glance at the woman, had finally agreed.

“Buy you a drink?”

Starbuck looked up to see an old guy looking at him genially.

“Not drinking much these days.”

“Ah,” the man said. “Perhaps a hand of cards.”

“I only have a few cubits to lose, and it would take approximately ten centons for that to happen. I think I’d rather hang on to them.”

“A friendly game then. We can play for...” the man cast his eyes around the bar and settled on a bowl of spiced legumes.

Starbuck eyed the man closely. He was dressed in a dapper fashion, and could, just possibly, be looking for someone with whom to play a ‘friendly’ game of cards. Although it seemed unlikely. Then he glanced around the room and shrugged. What the hell else was there to do? “Ah,” he said finally, “why not.” The theme of the evening, it seemed.

In silence the two moved through the crowd until they were able to snag a small table from a couple who were departing to a locale that, presumably, included more than the half-meter-square table on which to get more closely acquainted. The man sat opposite Starbuck and shuffled and dealt, quickly and competently.

“I’m guessing I’m lucky that we’re not playing for real stakes,” Starbuck said as he filched a few legumes from the bowl.

The man grinned and Starbuck was struck by a sense of recognition. “Do I know you?” he asked.

All expression vanished from the man’s face for a moment, but then the genial smile was back so quickly Starbuck thought he’d imagined it. “We’ve met. But not under the best of circumstances. I was hoping you wouldn’t remember. Was under the impression that you wouldn’t.” The man’s gaze sharpened for a moment, and then it was as if a mask dropped, and a genial old man was sitting back in his place again.

“So this is an attempt to...”

The man shrugged. “You looked bored. I like to play cards. No attempt to do much of anything.” The grin spread across his face again.

Starbuck shook his head, trying to clear the uneasy feeling growing inside him. “Right. Well, thanks, I guess. Uh, what’s your name?”

“Chameleon.” The man extended a hand across the table and Starbuck tentatively shook it.

“I’m Starbuck.”

“Yes. I know.” Chameleon flagged down a waiter and ordered himself an ambrosa and Starbuck a kola. After another smile at the waitress, a flirtatious smile that was returned indulgently, Chameleon picked up his cards and arranged them.

Starbuck scooped up his cards and concentrated, the uneasy sense of recognition niggling at him. The first few rounds were played in silence, but gradually, as it became clear how hopeless Starbuck was at the game, Chameleon began to teach him.

“Remember,” Chameleon said, “Purple Off the Ground”

“Right,” Starbuck said. “And Corner Up to Cap?”

“See, it’s starting to come back to you.” Chameleon looked pleased.

“I guess so. It looks like I won a hand.” Starbuck looked up and smiled his disbelief. But his sense of success was cut short when Boomer’s hand clapped heavily down on his shoulder.

“You okay, Bucko?” Boomer was slighlty wobbly on his feet.

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” Starbuck looked from Boomer to Chameleon. Boomer was eyeing the man with dislike, and Chameleon wore an air of studied indifference. Boomer broke off his glare when the waitress reappeared with the drinks Chameleon had ordered, setting them down on the table with a flourish.

“Sorry for the delay,” she said. Chameleon paid, deliberately making eye contact with Boomer as he did so. The waitress, meanwhile, gave Starbuck an appreciative once-over, then slid away again.

“Good. Just making sure this guy isn’t taking advantage.”

Starbuck blinked at the sound of warning in Boomer’s voice and gazed up at his semi-inebriated friend. “Nah. We’re playing for legumes. And he’s sharing his winnings. He’s winning pretty much constantly, you know,” Starbuck confided.

Boomer nodded shortly. “Well, just watch out. He’s a true con artist and this smells like a set-up to me.”

Chameleon’s gaze fell to the table, his hands tightening on the cards.

“It’s okay, Boom-Boom. I can take care of myself,” Starbuck said.

“Can you?” Boomer gazed at Starbuck levelly.

“Yeah. I promise not to wager any cubits. Not that I have many to lose.” His gaze flicked from Boomer to Chameleon and back. “Get back to that girl of yours,” Starbuck said. “She doesn’t look like she’s happy about waiting.”

Boomer turned to see his blonde companion looking at him impatiently. Turning back to Starbuck, he lurched slightly.

“Yeah, see,” Starbuck said with a grin. “You need to get horizontal, and for more than just one reason. Go on.”

“Apollo would kill me if anything happened to you,” Boomer said obscurely.

“Right,” Starbuck waved the comment away, then turned it into a shooing motion. “Go. Get the girl. Before someone else does.”

Boomer turned back toward the waiting woman. “Okay. Yeah. You just be... Be careful.”

“Sure thing,” Starbuck said. He watched as Boomer made his unsteady way toward the blonde, who slipped an arm about him, ostensibly to keep him on his feet. The resulting embrace looked considerably more than friendly, however. Once they were on their way, Starbuck turned back to Chameleon. “So, what was that all about?”

Chameleon pursed his lips consideringly. “I tried to pull a con on you a yahren or so back,” he said finally.

“Did it work?”

“Well, yes. In the end, I got more or less what I wanted.”

“And so feel you owe me and are, what, paying back your debt?”

“Something like that.”

“Huh.” Starbuck regarded Chameleon closely. “Y’know, now that Boomer has retired for the evening, I should probably get going.”

“I’ll see you to the shuttle,” Chameleon said as he stood. “You should probably leave a message for Lieutenant Boomer, letting him know that you’ve gone back to the _Galactica_.”

Starbuck nodded and stood, too. Chameleon led the way to the concierge, where Starbuck dutifully left a message. Then he turned to head toward the shuttle. Chameleon turned to follow. “I can get there on my own,” Starbuck said.

“Ah. Right. Wasn’t sure...”

“Not a problem,” Starbuck said politely. “Thanks for the lessons. Maybe I’ll be able to put them to good use, with a little practice.”

“I’m sure you will,” Chameleon said gravely. “Good luck, son.”

Starbuck nodded and made his way to the shuttle bay, where he had to sit for a good half-centare before he could board _Galactica_ -bound transport. By the time the shuttle left a tension headache had crawled up his spine to the base of his neck, where it lodged and sent malignant pulses that reverberated inside his skull.

-=-

That night he dreamed -- a long dream of jumbled images most of which he could barely untangle, let alone remember. Some... some he couldn’t forget. Sitting on Chameleon’s knee, reciting rhymes to help him remember pyramid rules. But as a child, not as the adult he was now. And then being alone, all alone, playing imaginary opponents, pretending Chameleon -- pretending his father -- was with him.

Odd, Starbuck thought. Very odd. But his waking pyramid game improved. Improved steadily. For here he was, having won four of the last five hands, to the pretended dismay of his friends. And he was about to win a fifth. Starbuck was glad to make much of his companions’ chagrin, since it seemed to be what they expected.

“Not again,” groaned Greenbean, throwing his cards down on the table. Boomer just sat back from the table and smiled, patting Starbuck on the arm, and Jolly grinned. The captain looked serious, as always.

“Damn,” Giles said with a sigh. “There goes this secton’s pay. Looks like the old Starbuck really is in there somewhere.” An awkward silence fell. “Uh. Sorry. Just kidding.”

“S’okay,” Starbuck said, leaning back. He stuck a fumarillo in his mouth and grinned around it. The doctors were only allowing him one a secton, and he was savoring it. “Just hoping that other skills come back to me soon, as well,” he continued reflectively.

He knew he was supposed to let his memory come back on its own, but he couldn’t help wondering what he’d been like ‘before.’ Most people seemed to like him, but a few... Well, the jury was out, there.

His service record, though, it showed that he’d been a good pilot. Maybe one of the best. He had awards and commendations. He also had a few reprimands – he’d been a bit of a hothead, it seemed.

“Yeah, the ladies miss you, Starbuck,” Giles said, giving Starbuck a salacious wink.

Starbuck saw the captain’s lips tighten and sat up straight. “Actually, I was thinking more about flying. I’d like to get back out there one of these days. Seems I’m remembering who the Cylons are and why we all hate them so much. Either that, or the stories I’m hearing are enough to scare the pants off of me.”

Mentioning “ladies” and “Starbuck” in the same breath in front of Captain Apollo seemed to be... not a good idea. The captain been engaged to that woman -- Sheba -- who hated Starbuck. The sealing date had been set, but the day had come and gone more than a sectare back. From the glares Sheba continually sent Starbuck’s way, he could only guess that she held him in some way responsible. The way Starbuck figured it was that he and Sheba had been so unwise as to get a little too friendly. And that the captain had found out about it.

“Ah, so you’re up for a little tin-can target practice,” Boomer said, dealing the next hand.

“And how,” Starbuck agreed. He smiled quickly at Boomer, glad that the topic change had taken. Or clarified, since he truly had been talking about getting back in the saddle again, as it were. And you couldn’t live on the _Galactica_ and not be aware of the Cylons’ existence.

“Your skills are as good as they ever were.” All heads turned to Apollo. “It might not be long, now.”

Starbuck nodded, surprised. The captain had just said more to him in one go than Starbuck had heard from him in the past secton. And it was complimentary, to boot. “Plus,” Starbuck said with a grin, “I can now remember the difference between port and starboard. That’s sure to be a help.”

The captain nodded, his lips curling into a grudging smile. “We could use you out there.”

Starbuck flushed, pleased at the compliment. “So maybe the rumors of my competency were not exaggerated?” he asked.

“I always said that if you knocked Starbuck on the head hard enough, he’d learn a little humility,” Giles said.

Apollo’s face froze and Boomer groaned.

“Er, sorry, Starbuck. No offense, really.” Giles stood. “I think I better, uh... Goodnight, all.” Giles threw his cards down and smiled apologetically.

“Hey, now. I can take a joke. Even if it’s on me,” Starbuck called to Giles’ retreating back. But Giles kept on going. Starbuck turned a puzzled gaze to the rest of his companions, who all avoided his eyes. Boomer swept up the deck and dealt another hand.

Starbuck picked up his cards and stared at them discontentedly. He really hadn’t minded Giles joshing him. It made him feel... included. Less like a stranger trying to figure out the customs of a foreign land. He rubbed the back of his neck. Another headache was setting in. Sighing, he stood. “Look. I think... Headache. Best bet is for me to retire for the evening, too”

“Afraid we’re about to win back what we lost?” Boomer asked.

“No! I mean, sure, I should stay. Not fair of me to leave with all your money in my pocket, is it?”

“Easy, Starbuck. Just kidding. If you have a headache you should get some rest.” Boomer smiled reassuringly.

Oddly, Boomer’s soothing remark only succeeded in irritating Starbuck. “Right. Well, that’s what I’m going to do. Good evening, gentlemen.”

The captain rose to his feet. “I could walk you...”

“Thank you, no, Captain. I’ve been finding my way to the barracks on my own for a few sectons now.”

The captain green eyes met Starbuck’s squarely. “I didn’t mean to imply -- ”

Starbuck waved the rest of the sentence away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure. Good night.” He turned and walked toward the entrance, emotions roiling.

-=-

The headache meant that he awoke frequently during the night, scattered images from his dreams seemingly imprinted on the insides of his eyelids. Chameleon made an appearance, and also a blonde woman. His mother? Someone who held him in her arms and sang. And whom he heard cry at night because her husband -- his father -- had left again, taking more from them when he left than he’d brought with him when he arrived.

He and his mother would watch him go, and after she would soothe him, stroking the hair back from Starbuck’s forehead as he tried not to cry. “I know, Gabriel,” she would whisper. “I know.”

The next morning Starbuck stumbled out of bed, red-eyed and gray with tiredness. He showered, dressed, then checked with the personnel data base to find Chameleon’s location. Then he headed down to the shuttle bay and set out for the _Rising Star_.

As he strode down the hallway toward Chameleon’s quarters, he wondered what the true story would be. He rang Chameleon’s door chime, and then the man stood before him, wearing gray pajamas that hung loosely on his body.

“Starbuck,” Chameleon said in surprise. “What brings you here?”

“Are you my father?” Starbuck asked abruptly.

Chameleon blanched and stepped backwards. Starbuck took advantage of the movement to step inside the bland, gray quarters -- a single, small room. Starbuck glanced around, then turned to gaze at Chameleon who now simply looked like a tired old man, very unlike the charming, helpful companion from the _Rising Star_. Chameleon’s eyes fell under Starbuck’s steady gaze. Backing up further he sat on the edge of the bed. “Did Cassie tell you? Or was it Captain Apollo?”

Starbuck his head, confused. Refusing to be sidetracked, he instead said, “I’ve been dreaming. Who’s Gabriel?”

“Ah, now. Well, what have you dreamed up?” Chameleon straightened and put on soothing smile. Starbuck could almost smell that the charm wafting off him.

“Not dreams. Memories,” Starbuck said firmly.

“Look, this is a confusing time for you,” Chameleon said, raising his hands placatingly.

“Felgercarb. Tell me. Tell me about my mother.” Starbuck tensed and leaned forward. Chameleon sagged.

“Starbuck, I...” he said.

“You, what? You left us when we were small? I’m assuming she’s dead.” Based on what Starbuck had been able to glean from his own personnel records, that was the most likely conclusion. He’d been found in the Thorn Forest on Umbra, one of Caprica’s moons, after a Cylon attack. Very few adults from Starbuck’s presumptive home -- the agro colony the Cylons had decimated -- survived. His mother must have numbered among the dead.

“Yes. She died while I... During a Cylon attack. But you guessed that much.”

Starbuck nodded. “And I survived. But apparently you didn’t know that. Or didn’t bother to find out.”

“No,” Chameleon said, flinching. “I didn’t find out till about a yahren or so ago that you were still alive.”

“When you pulled a scam on me.” Starbuck nodded and rocked back on his heels.

Chameleon remained silent for a moment. “Yes.”

“What was the scam?” Starbuck demanded.

Chameleon’s face fell. “I’d rather not say.”

“Why. How bad was it?” Starbuck’s mind whirled, trying to imagine what it could have been. He couldn’t imagine he would have had much money to lose.

“Considering that you’re my son, it was... unforgivable.”

“And you’re a con artist.” Starbuck stared at Chameleon coldly. “Did you ever actually marry my mother? Or was she just one of many conquests?” He could see that, actually. A woman in every port. And from what he’d heard, he might be very like his father. Starbuck’s hands clenched.

“No!” The denial was vehement. “I loved Mari, but I was... a lousy husband.” Chameleon grimaced. “A lousy father. I took her away from her family and never kept a single promise I made her. She deserved better. Better than me.” He looked Starbuck in the eye. “You do, too.”

Starbuck bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting. The urge to lash out was there, just below the surface. His head pounded with it. “So, because you’re a lousy excuse for a father, you walked away from your scam. That’s noble, I guess. But you walked away from me, too. Again.”

“I couldn’t tell you. When I found out who you were I just... I couldn’t. Couldn’t face you.”

“I’m like you,” Starbuck said shrewdly. “Like you in manner, at least. That scares the hell out of me, by the way. So, what? Was it too painful to confront a younger version of yourself?”

“You look like her,” Chameleon said levelly. “Very like her. I met her when she was young. Beautiful. Convinced her that I could show her the universe. But....” Chameleon swallowed. “She came from a wealthy family.”

“You married her for her money,” Starbuck said flatly.

Chameleon nodded. “I did love her, Starbuck. Truly. But she realized... she knew, and so -- “

“You couldn’t face her.”

Chameleon nodded again.

“And so when you found me twenty yahrens later...”

“I knew just enough about you to spin a tale of my long-lost son. Enough to make it believable. And then I spent time with you and I started to remember her eyes. How she looked at me.”

Starbuck turned away to examine the emergency evacuation instructions that hung next to the door. The anger was now burning in the pit of his stomach. Had he been angry before, angry over being abandoned, alone? Maybe he’d chosen to forget.

“But I thought it was an old man’s imagination,” Chameleon continued. “My conscience twinging. But when the blood tests came back, I just... I couldn’t.”

Starbuck almost laughed aloud in incredulity. To scam someone, pretend that they were your long-lost son. And then to have them turn out to be the real article. “So you lied. Lied and left me. Again.”

“Yes.”

“Well. I see. Well, that clears up a bit of confusion on my part.” Starbuck bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. “Thank you for your time,” he added formally. “Goodbye.”

“Starbuck. Starbuck wait.” Chameleon rose from the bed. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Starbuck snapped. “I seem to have managed before.”

-=-

Starbuck fumed and paced as he waited for the shuttle to take him back to the _Galactica_ and then sat stiffly on the shuttle back, acid eating into the lining of his stomach. He headed directly to the OC, sat at the bar, and ordered the first of what would be many glasses of ambrosa. Silly, he thought, to forbid him to drink while he was on meds. The combination made the world so delightfully hazy.

“Hey, Starbuck.” Boomer slapped Starbuck’s shoulder companionably and slid into the chair next to him.

“To your health, Boom-Boom,” Starbuck said happily.

“Starbuck. Are you lit?” Boomer asked sharply.

“Higher than a kite,” Starbuck agreed. “Bartender, another round. And one for my buddy here.”

“Belay that request,” Boomer instructed the bartender. “Starbuck, what about your meds?”

“Frack my meds,” Starbuck said. The anger resurfaced briefly but he pushed it down. But Boomer, it seemed, wasn’t to be fooled.

“Hey. Hey buddy. What happened today?”

“Oh. Boomer it’s a heartwarming tale. Really. Today,” Starbuck said dramatically, “today I found my long-lost father. I’m an orphan no longer!” He downed the rest of his ambrosa, deftly avoiding Boomer’s belated grab for the glass. “Except I still am, figuratively at least, because my father is not only a con artist, but he abandoned me, and my mother. And then did it again to me, for good measure.”

Starbuck closed his eyes. There had to have been good parts to his life hadn’t there? Sure maybe Chameleon had lied about loving his wife. Or maybe he hadn’t. Starbuck would probably never get the truth out of the old bastard. But his mother. His mother had loved him, hadn’t she? Closing his eyes he tried to call up a vision from his dreams. Her laughter, her smile, her soothing him when he was sad. Starbuck shook himself, forcing his attention to Boomer’s words.

“Chameleon? Are you talking about Chameleon? ‘Cause he’s not your father -- the blood tests proved -- ”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Starbuck waggled his finger under Boomer’s nose. “He must’ve fixed ’em. Because he is my father. Just couldn’t face it when he found out the scam wasn’t a scam after all.”

“This doesn’t sound right, Starbuck. Look, let’s go talk to Apollo. Get him to straighten this out.”

“Yeah. He’ll straighten it out, I’m sure. Good ol’ straight-arrow Apollo.”

Boomer gave him a disgruntled glance. “Bucko, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s go see the man.”

Starbuck snorted dismissively, but nonetheless followed Boomer down to the captain’s office. He stood ostentatiously at attention until Apollo indicated they should sit. Then he lolled in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“You let him get drunk?” Apollo asked Boomer reproachfully.

“Not a matter of ‘let,’ Apollo,” Boomer replied. “He’s upset and is going off -- has gone off -- half-cocked. Chameleon apparently has changed his mind and is trying to work his scam again. Told Starbuck that he was his father.”

“Wrong,” Starbuck said to the ceiling. “He didn’t just tell me out of the blue. I went to him and he confirmed what I already knew. That he was my father. I was having dreams of the happy times he, mom, and I used to have, you see. Didn’t I mention that this was a heartwarming tale?” he asked suddenly cheerful again. The expression on Apollo’s face was priceless. It was worth something to have put it there.

“When did this happen?” Apollo asked.

Starbuck waved a hand idly. “Oh, earlier today.”

“And you’ve been drinking ever since?” Apollo asked guardedly.

Starbuck sat up straight in his chair. “Is that a problem for you, Captain?” he returned, raising an eyebrow.

Apollo’s expression hardened so that his lips were a tense white line. Starbuck examined him more closely. “I have to say,” Starbuck said, “you don’t look all too surprised by this news.”

Apollo winced, and Starbuck nodded. “Uh-huh. Interesting. So, you knew about my, ah, paternity, and didn’t tell me, I take it.” Starbuck’s gaze flicked to Boomer, who was staring at Apollo in amazement. “Or Boomer, I guess. Why, I wonder?” Starbuck fixed a steely gaze on Apollo’s face. “What right did you have to keep something like that from me? I get that I’m not your favorite person, but that seems a bit... petty, don’t you think? Or is it that you didn’t want it known that someone in your squadron was related to someone as... undesirable... as Chameleon. Heck, I know what I’d do if I had a choice. Forget that I ever met him.”

Starbuck’s breath came quickly. He felt as if like he did when he was in the simulator and the Cylon Raiders were trying to catch him in a pincer move.

“Hah,” Starbuck said when Apollo flinched again. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were preserving the all-important image of the fleet’s guardians. You make me sick.” He hadn’t been aware that he’d risen from his chair. Only Boomer’s hand on his arm was restraining him from going over to the captain and… Who knew what he’d do.

“Starbuck, that’s not what -- ”

Boomer stood. “Apollo, let’s end this conversation before any more unpleasant things get said. Starbuck, c’mon. I’m going to take you to the Life Center to make sure you’re not doing yourself any damage. No,” Boomer continued over Starbuck’s protests. “That’s what we’re doing. That’s where we’re going. Now.”

Boomer had Starbuck’s arm in a firm grip as he dragged Starbuck out of the captain’s office. “Apollo, you and I will talk later,” Boomer called over his shoulder.

Starbuck shook off Boomer’s arm, headed toward the lift, and didn’t look back.

-=-

The following day’s headache was enough to convince him not to mix meds and ambrosa, ever again. Unfortunately, his little temper tantrum meant that Salik was forcing him to talk to a counselor, who seemed fascinated to hear what Starbuck had remembered about his childhood.

“He’s delighted by the conundrum, as he calls it,” Starbuck complained to Boomer as he laid his pyramid hand down on the table and tapped his forehead. “He thinks that my little blow to the head started off all sorts of interesting things in here. Apparently I’ve been spending the last seven sectons tapping into the formerly-repressed memories of my childhood while simultaneously repressing memories of my adult life. It’s due, he says, to a deep-seated fear of abandonment. He says that back in the colonies he could have written a paper about me.” Starbuck paused. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered about that or not.”

Boomer snorted and threw down his hand in disgust. “I agree with Giles. I liked it better when you didn’t remember how to play cards.”

“It’s not as if I’m trying,” Starbuck said apologetically.

“Which makes it worse,” Boomer sighed. “Look, what the counselor says makes sense. Maybe I should talk to him.”

“You have a fear of abandonment, too?” Starbuck asked snarkily.

“No.” Boomer hesitated. “But I could fill him in on some stuff that might help him understand you a bit better.”

“Stuff you won’t tell me.” He flicked his cards with his thumb, telling himself his friends were only obeying doctor’s orders.

“It’s complicated, Bucko. Lords is it ever. And you know what the doctors said about letting your memory come back on its own.”

Boomer looked so uncomfortable that Starbuck tried to let go of his growing anger over the situation. But it felt like he was constantly groping around in the dark and his so-called friends wouldn’t loan him a light.

“Yeah, Yeah.” Starbuck paused. “It has to do with Sheba, doesn’t it?” He pretended great concentration on his cards but caught how Boomer stiffened out of the corner of his eye.

“Um, what has what to do with Sheba?”

Starbuck shrugged. “Not much. She hates me, though. And I overheard something about the fact that she and the captain were due to get married, and that she’s all steamed because my accident put paid to those plans. Since the captain hates me too, the best I can figure is that I put my vaunted lady-killing skills to use and had a fling with her. Now Apollo hates me for it, and Sheba hates me for being indiscreet about it.”

Boomer choked. “Oh. Oh wow. Have you ever got it wrong, Starbuck, I hate to break it to you, but Sheba wouldn’t have sleep with you if you were the last man alive in the fleet.”

“Really?” Starbuck said, relieved. “I mean, I thought I had better taste, but I figured, maybe I was turned on by the challenge. Or something.”

“No. No, you and Sheba loathe each other.”

“So why haven’t she and the captain rescheduled their wedding?” Starbuck asked curiously. “I guess I can understand postponing it because one of the pilots was injured -- not to mention the fact that there was a battle -- but it’s been a couple of sectares now. And I’m obviously not going anywhere. More’s the pity,” he said moodily.

Boomer pursed his lips. “I think there were... difficulties... between Apollo and Sheba and Apollo has probably called it off for good. Your, ah, accident was just a catalyst to an existing chemical reaction waiting to happen.”

“Huh. So she blames me for getting in an accident, because if I hadn’t, she’d be sealed to him already and he’d be stuck with her? Well, that explains why she can't stand the sight of me, but I don’t see why he should hate me. By the looks of things, I should be thanked. And as for her -- Lords, Boomer, it’s not as if I let my ship get hit by a laser cannon on purpose.”

“Not on purpose, no,” Boomer said. “Look, I’m just hoping that you get your memory back because this is all too complicated for me. And,” he hesitated. “Apollo truly doesn’t hate you. It’s partly that he blames himself for...”

“My ‘condition,’” Starbuck said grandly. “Look, Boomer. Maybe he doesn’t hate me, but it’s pretty obvious he’s not, ah, comfortable, around me -- “

“Tell me about it,” Boomer muttered.

“ -- and at this point, I’m none too comfortable around him either. At any rate,” Starbuck said, deciding that a change of subject was in order, “The doctors think that I’m almost out of danger of something in my head bursting, which means, who knows? Maybe I’ll get to fly again. That’s something to look forward to, at any rate.”

Boomer opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again before saying, “You managed to fly your way into a lot of trouble, Bucko. Granted, you almost always managed to fly your way out of it again. Remains to be seen whether it’s something to look forward to.”

-=-

Starbuck launched his viper with an ear-splitting whoop. “Gods, I’ve missed this,” he added. “How could I have forgotten? It’s a blast!”

Boomer’s dry tones came back at him through the earpiece. “You’ve also forgotten that your helmet is miked. What are you trying to do, break my eardrum?”

“Or mine?” said the comm officer.

“Athena, that you?” Starbuck asked. “Sorry!”

“S’all right,” Athena responded. “Good to have you back, flyboy.”

“Thanks,” Starbuck said jubilantly.

“All right then, Starbuck. Calm down. Mind on the job,” Boomer warned.

“Right. Of course. Right. Got your tail, Boomer. Let’s patrol.” Starbuck settled back into his seat and concentrated on flying. It felt good. Natural. Kilametrics better than the flight simulator. He followed Boomer’s easy swoop toward the tail end of the fleet, maintaining the distance exactingly without a hint of effort. Even so, he strove to make each centon of his flight perfect so that no one would dare question his right to go out again. It was a quiet patrol -- deliberately set up to be, Starbuck knew, but still, in too short a time, the patrol was over and they were winging back to the _Galactica_ landing bay.

Once he’d touched down, he flung open the canopy and tossed his helmet to the tech who came toward him. “Jenny, right?” he called.

“You got it.” She grinned at him. “And may I say it’s very good to see you take wing again. Although I appreciate the safe landing even more.”

Starbuck grinned back and went down the checklist with her. It was a relief to know that this aspect of the patrol was near-instinctive, too. And Jenny’s air of solid affection and approval warmed him. Before he left the bay, he patted the nose of his viper affectionately before it was hoisted into its storage slot twenty metrons above.

“That was great. That was really great,” he said as he followed Boomer into the OC.

“Back to blowing your own horn, I see,” said a woman brushing past him.

“No, I didn’t mean... I just meant... Oh, it’s you,” Starbuck said, once he realized the woman was Sheba.

“Oh, it’s ‘you’?” Sheba said. “Meaning what exactly?”

“Nah. Nothing,” Starbuck said hurriedly. “Excuse me. Have a nice day.”

Sheba looked him up and down, and then, with a “hmmph” of disgust, turned on her heel and strode away.

“Yikes,” Starbuck said.

“Mm,” Boomer said noncommittally. They walked, side-by-side, to the table where Jolly, Greenbean, and Giles sat.

“So, I’m legal. Can I buy you a drink to celebrate the resumption of our flying partnership?” Starbuck asked.

“Resumption of your flying partnership?” Giles asked. “You two are a new team.”

“A new-old team,” Jolly corrected.

“Not so much with the old,” Boomer complained. “It was a while back,” he said in answer to Giles questioning look.

“Really? And with whom did I fly most recently?” Starbuck asked with mock formality. He waved to the waiter and ordered a round of ambrosa. He was off meds, finally, so he could join in the fun. “On me. I’ve won enough of your money to afford it,” he said, and smiled wickedly.

“You certainly have. Both before and after your hit to the head,” Boomer said.

“In fact,” Greenbean chimed in, “you should buy the next two rounds, too. S’only fair.”

“I’m not sure my generosity extends that far,” Starbuck said. “But c’mon. Who did I used to fly wing to?” Starbuck thought back to what he’d seen in his records, but he hadn’t really paid attention to that information at the time. He’d been more interested in seeing whether he was any good than who he’d been teamed with.

“Uh. I, um... Oh, thanks.” The waiter had returned with their drinks and Jolly smiled at him as if the man has brought them back a bottle of vintage ambrosa, on the house.

“Look,” Starbuck said. “I can go look at my service record and find out myself. I’ve figured out how to do that much.”

Greenbean, Giles, and Jolly looked to Boomer, who, it appeared, had the final word. Finally, Boomer sighed. “Apollo. You were Apollo’s wingman.”

“Apollo? But he hates me,” Starbuck said, bewildered. “Okay, okay, he doesn’t hate me,” seeing the disbelieving expression on his friends’ faces. “But it’s not as if I’m the light of his life, either.”

“Well, you didn’t like each other initially, that’s for sure,” Jolly said.

“None of us did, to be frank. We weren’t thrilled to have the commander’s son come in as our strike captain,” added Greenbean.

“But you disliked him more than most. But that was a long, long time ago. You were his wingmate, and one-half of the winningest triad team in the fleet,” added Jolly.

“Hey,” Boomer said.

“Let the records show,” Giles said, winking at Jolly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Boomer grimaced. “But that dislike is more than six yahrens gone by now.”

“And how long ago was it that Apollo decided he had the right to keep secrets from me?” Starbuck said. “Would a good friend have kept quiet about the fact that Chameleon’s my father?”

Boomer exchanged glances with Jolly and Greenbean. “Ah. Well, Apollo has his flaws.”

Giles nodded feelingly; Jolly looked uncomfortable; and Greenbean just grunted.

“And,” Boomer continued, “sometimes he just goes ahead,” Boomer waggled his fingers in a walking motion, “and does what he thinks is right, regardless of... well, regardless of the fact that he might be -- ”

“Acting like an idiot?” Starbuck asked brightly.

“Um. I wouldn’t go so far as to say...”

“That our esteemed captain has a stick up his butt.” Starbuck stared into his glass as he rolled it between his palms. And then he flinched when he heard Boomer say, “Apollo, we were just...”

“Talking about me. Yes, I heard,” said a voice just over Starbuck’s shoulder.

Starbuck groaned inwardly. Outwardly he simply straightened in his chair. “Captain. It was I who misspoke, Boomer, Jolly, and -- ”

“Please, Starbuck. Relax. You too, Boomer.” Starbuck couldn’t help but note how tired he looked. Well, Starbuck thought defiantly, too bad for him.

“We were just telling Starbuck that you and he play a mean game of triad. And discovered that Boomer has a bit of amnesia on that score, too,” Jolly said in a noble attempt to cover the awkwardness.

“Hah-hah,” Boomer said. “Yeah, maybe you two should get out on the court together. It helped last time.”

“Helped what?” Starbuck asked suspiciously.

“Helped you learn to get along,” Boomer said. “Resolve latent, ah, hostilities.”

The captain sent Boomer a warning look.

“Huh. Well, I dunno. Don’t really remember the rules of the game.” Starbuck took a long slow sip of his ambrosa. If the captain didn’t want to play triad with him again, it was no skin off his nose.

“Apollo can teach you. Right Apollo?” Boomer said.

“If Starbuck likes,” Apollo said.

Your enthusiasm overwhelms me, Starbuck thought at the captain. But when he didn’t say anything aloud, Boomer nudged Starbuck under the table.

“I’ll think about it,” Starbuck said. Casually, he took his deck of cards from his pocket and began to shuffle.

Boomer shrugged and stretched one arm out to hook a chair from the next table. “Sit down,” he said to Apollo. “We were just deciding whether to let Starbuck win any more money off of us.”

Apollo stood stiffly for a moment then sat. “C’mon,” Boomer said to Starbuck. “Deal.”

Starbuck grudgingly began to flick the cards out, making sure they landed in nice, neat piles. The playing, however, was desultory, and Starbuck lost the first hand. And then he played to lose the next three.

“Off my game, I guess,” he said. “Maybe that patrol took more out of me than I thought.” He smiled ’round the table, the grin faltering only when he met the captain’s green gaze. With a shake of his head he stood. “I’d best be off to bed.”

Amid a chorus of “Goodnight, Starbucks” he turned and left for the barracks.

-=-

Starbuck sat in the OC, once again faced with one of his life’s little inevitabilities: Pyramid. He’d managed to avoid relearning triad with Apollo as his tutor. Instead, he played casual pick-up games, growing more familiar with the pilots in the other squadrons as a result. The exercise also helped make him feel more alert, focused. That, and being off the meds, made Starbuck feel more clearheaded by the day. Playing pyramid, however, was becoming something of a chore.

Inwardly sighing, Starbuck drew one from the deck and arranged his cards. He then waited patiently while Greenbean deliberated over his hand -- a sure sign that he had a good one, for once.

Starbuck turned to study Boomer, who was smiling up at their waitress. He clearly had not been happy with Apollo about the Chameleon situation, but he also very clearly didn’t want to take sides. And so, Starbuck thought, looking at the silent man sitting between Boomer and Greenbean, Apollo had become a regular, if nearly mute, player in their games.

As for things between Apollo and Starbuck, they’d finally arrived at a truce, tacitly agreeing to ignore one another during off-duty centares. While on-duty, Starbuck modeled his behavior on Apollo’s own, evincing a sort of stiff politeness that bordered on parody. It was returned full measure. Starbuck drummed the table softly as Apollo refused new cards and the play moved on to Boomer.

Starbuck half-smiled as Jolly kicked Boomer under the table, finally drawing his attention away from the waitress. “Card,” Jolly said pointedly.

“Ah, no. Hold.” Boomer smiled at the waitress again, who smiled back but moved off to another table to take their order. Boomer’s attention finally rested on his cards, and he suddenly looked as if he regretted not having taken the chance to strengthen his hand.

What with all the practice -- and apparently the early childhood training -- it perhaps wasn’t surprising that Starbuck had it in him to be a card shark. And Pyramid was also the standard activity that he and Chameleon engaged in as Starbuck tentatively embarked on a relationship with his ‘father.’

Chameleon seemed happy, and Starbuck’s counselor seemed happy about it as well. He thought it might give him ‘closure.’ But Starbuck had taken the counselor's advice simply because he wanted to know more about his mother, and his mother’s family. Secretly he had hoped that someone -- a niece, a nephew, a third cousin twice-removed, he didn’t care -- had survived the Destruction and was somewhere in the fleet. He still felt disconnected, despite the staunch friendship of Boomer, Jolly, Greenbean, and Giles.

“Bid’s to you,” Jolly said in an undertone.

“Ah. Two,” Starbuck said, tossing the cubits into the middle of the table, noting automatically that Greenbean raised his bid.

Chameleon had revealed that his mother, Mari, had been a younger daughter of the Ilios family. Fleet records showed that there had been a single survivor from her family -- a second cousin, an elderly woman who had died of a heart attack just a few sectares after the Destruction. Somehow Starbuck would have preferred that Cousin Althea had died after he’d met Chameleon. That way he’d have one more reason to resent Apollo.

And learning about Althea had made Starbuck feel lonelier than ever. Thereafter, Apollo wasn’t the only silent player at the Pyramid table.

Slowly people became more and more willing to talk about the “old” Starbuck. The one who, it seemed more and more likely, was never coming back. Starbuck heard tales of his exploits as a pilot, and his... other exploits. Apparently he’d been a charmer, a smooth-talker -- a bit of conman. Just like dear old dad, he thought. Except, apparently, he’d been honest about it. No one, it seemed, had expected any sort of commitment.

Love ’em and leave ’em Starbuck. That was his reputation. And certainly there were some now who were willing to look past that -- or perhaps, more likely, accept it. But it didn’t appeal and he found himself backing away from invitations both sultry and shy to “come back to my quarters for a nightcap.”

It was now more than three sectares since he’d been injured and the sectons had begun to have a bland sameness. Starbuck sometimes wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better if the blow to the head had been fatal. He wondered about his past self -- in all the holopics he’d managed to see, he looked happy, as if life were one glorious ride. Maybe he’d had something to live for then. But if so, he’d lost it when he lost his memories.

“Bid’s to you again,” Jolly said.

“Huh?” Starbuck looked at the table and realized he’d lost track of the bidding when Boomer had passed. He looked at his hand again, then at Greenbean. “Hell. I fold.”

Greenbean looked momentarily disappointed. He’d probably been hoping that Starbuck would think he was bluffing. Nevertheless, he eagerly swept his winnings toward him and stacked the cubits in neat piles as everyone else folded, too.

“So,” Starbuck said into the silence.

“So,” Jolly countered as he picked up the cards and shuffled. “I hear Boomer and Apollo are taking on Cole and Sykes in triad tomorrow. I’m looking forward to the start of a new season. I bet you are, too, huh Bucko.”

Starbuck shrugged his indifference.

“Something to bet on,” Jolly explained.

“Ah, right.” Starbuck nodded.

“How do you think you’ll do?” Greenbean asked Boomer.

Boomer looked at Apollo.

“Only real threat is Bender and Garrett. We don’t play them till later in the season. We should have our game down by then,” Apollo said.

Starbuck listened with half an ear as his friends handicapped the various teams. Again he swept up the cards he’d been dealt and put them in order. This hand would be his. He flicked his gaze around the table. Greenbean had nothing; the captain probably didn’t either; Boomer looked cautiously pleased, and Jolly content.

Definitely his hand, he thought, touching the cards. Sure enough, Greenbean folded after the first round, and, with a quick glance at Starbuck, Apollo did, too.

Boomer and Jolly held out, determined to challenge Starbuck. “Foolish, foolish boys,” he crowed when Jolly finally called.

“Ugh,” Jolly said, sitting back with a sigh. “You would have thought we’d have learned better by now.”

“No one challenges the master,” Starbuck said. He sat back in his chair and grinned companionably. His friends smiled back, except, of course, for the captain, who just leveled a pained green-eyed gaze at him.

Sore loser, Starbuck thought.

-=-

Time was much easier to fill now that he had been passed to resume his old duties. In contrast, the two successive days of furlon were hard to fill, and he found himself refusing invitations to share in the good times to be found aboard the _Rising Star_. He was still uncomfortably reminded of his initial impression of the ship, and subsequent visits did nothing to dispel it. The few times he did go, he was able to slip on a devil-may-care attitude that made acquaintances and near-strangers remark that he was almost like his “old” self. Yet another reason to avoid going.

Most furlons he ended up haunting the OC, hoping that someone would be available for a pick-up game of triad. And, of course, the time off -- and an absence of any real excuses -- meant that he had a semi-obligatory meal with Chameleon, followed by -- what else? -- a game of pyramid.

Starbuck sighed as he entered the lift, on his way to the OC to meet Chameleon for just such a meal. On entering he found himself facing Lieutenant Athena, who stood there holding the hand of a young boy.

“Look, Boxey, it’s Starbuck,” Athena said, with a significant look at Starbuck.

“Hey Boxey,” Starbuck dutifully said. Although, actually, he’d known that.

“I know, Aunt Athena,” the boy told his aunt with a touch of indignation. But his greeting to Starbuck was a shy, “Hi, Starbuck, how are you?”

“Good. And you?”

“Fine. Aunt Athena’s taking me to lunch at the OC,” Boxey said.

“I’m on my way there, too,” said Starbuck agreeably.

“We could share a table,” Boxey suggested, with a quick glance upward at his aunt.

Starbuck hesitated. On the one hand Boxey was Athena’s nephew, which meant that he was also the captain’s son. Did Starbuck want -- and did Apollo want him to -- have the pleasure of Boxey’s company? On the other hand, two more people at the table meant someone else to talk to besides Chameleon. And the boy’s face looked hopeful. “Sure. I guess. If that’s okay with your aunt? I’m meeting Chameleon -- my father.” He looked to Athena to see if that was a factor in the decision.

Athena looked down at Boxey’s pleading expression and smiled. “Sure thing.”

Once the lift arrived, Starbuck ushered Athena and Boxey out ahead of him. Chameleon was waiting just outside the OC. “Chameleon,” Starbuck said, “we have company today. This is Lieutenant Athena, and her nephew, Boxey.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Boxey shook Chameleon’s hand politely, murmuring a greeting. “Nice to meet you, too,” Athena said dutifully.

“Well, shall we?” Starbuck said when an awkward silence threatened to descend.

“Of course,” Chameleon said genially.

Company manners, Starbuck thought sourly. He watched as Chameleon managed to charm Boxey, and eventually, Athena. It wasn’t too long before they were all laughing and chatting like old friends. Starbuck contributed to the conversation, but concentrated on his meal, relieved that he didn’t have to entertain the old man. And then Boxey stood up from the table and called out an enthusiastic “Dad!”

Starbuck rose from the table, his stomach twisting in sudden tension. The captain looked surprised, and then his expression grew calm, indifferent. Starbuck couldn’t help but notice that Athena bit her lip and looked a little tense, too.

Who, he wondered, fell lower on Apollo’s list of people fit to keep his son company -- he, or Chameleon?

But the captain just walked over to the table and indicated that their waiter should bring an extra chair. It was impossible to tell, after that first hint of surprise, what the other man was thinking. He certainly entered into the conversation smoothly, chatting amiably to his son and to Athena, and even to Chameleon.

“Dad told me you’re flying patrols again,” Boxey commented to Starbuck.

“Yep. And very glad to be back in the saddle again.”

“When’re you going to rejoin Blue and be my dad’s wingman?”

“Ah. Dunno, kiddo. Boomer needs my help right now,” Starbuck said confidentially.

“Oh,” Boxey said. He sounded disappointed. “But, maybe now you can come over for dinner sometime?” Boxey looked pleadingly at his father.

“Uh. Well. I guess that’s up to your father, Boxey.” Starbuck smiled, wondering whether the smile looked as false as it felt -- wondering, in fact, how much it looked like his Chameleon’s own charming smile. But he stuck with it, wondering what the captain’s reaction would be to his son’s request that Starbuck grace their dinner table.

“We’d be glad to have you,” Apollo said, his voice noncommittal.

Starbuck raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected that.

“How about tomorrow night? You’re both on break,” Boxey said eagerly.

“Your dad probably needs a little more notice than that, Boxey,” Starbuck said quickly.

Apollo stirred. “Not really. I think I can throw something together.”

“Oh,” Starbuck said. Lacking any real excuse, he added, “Well, then. All right.”

“Good,” Boxey said, satisfied. “Because you’re going on evening shifts next secton which means it would be two whole sectons before you were back on days again.”

Starbuck smiled, bemused by Boxey’s knowledge of squadron rotations.

“We need to have mushies,” Boxey instructed his father. “Starbuck likes them almost as much as I do.”

Starbuck blinked. He didn’t really care for them. But Apollo had reacted by sending Starbuck a brief conspiratorial smile, before the blankness returned. This time the blankness had been brought on, Starbuck thought, by Starbuck’s own non-comprehension. Starbuck smiled and nodded, as if to say “I get it.”

Weird, Starbuck thought, that he would have pretended to like the dessert just for the kid’s sake. But for an instant, Apollo’s smile had returned, nearly blinding Starbuck with its warmth. But then Apollo’s face grew shuttered again when the long-haired woman walked up to the table. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” she said brightly.

“Sheba,” Athena said. The rest of the table gave the lieutenant their greetings, except for Boxey, who stared mutinously at his plate.

“Boxey?” his father prompted.

“Hello, Lieutenant Sheba. How are you?” Boxey said.

“Fine. Thank you for asking,” Sheba replied sweetly, if pointedly. “Well, I’ll leave you to finish your meal, shall I?”

There was a murmur of assent around the table.

“Oh, but before you go,” Chameleon said. “I wanted to share this with you, Starbuck. Perhaps your friends would like to see.”

Starbuck extended a hand reflexively and took what turned out to be a holopic from Chameleon’s hand. Yet more people he didn’t recognize stood posed for the camera. He looked closer, hoping to see someone he knew. And there, in the corner, a young girl -- blonde hair shining in the sun -- smiled out at him.

“Is that...?” Starbuck asked, stroking a finger across the glass.

“Yes,” Chameleon said quietly.

Boxey stood up and came around the table to stand behind Starbuck’s chair. “Who are those people?”

“That’s my mother. Mari. And the rest are... her family?” Starbuck asked, looking to Chameleon for confirmation.

“Yes. The brown-haired woman in the middle was your cousin, Althea.”

“What’s this about Starbuck’s family? He’s a no-name orphan from nowhere,” Sheba said, her trill of laughter ringing shrilly in Starbuck’s ears.

“His mother was Mari Ilios,” Chameleon said firmly.

“Running scams again? Who’d you manage to con that picture from?” Sheba asked Chameleon.

Starbuck grimaced. “Well,” he said. He stood abruptly, forcing Boxey to take a quick step backward. He caught the boy’s elbow to prevent him from stumbling, ruffling Boxey’s hair in apology. “I have some things I need to do with the rest of my day. Chameleon, thank you for this. And Athena, Apollo, Boxey, I enjoyed your company during my meal. Now, if you will excuse me?”

Not waiting for a reply to his rhetorical question, Starbuck strode out of the OC and got onto the lift, blindly punching a button and eventually stumbling out of the lift into the landing bay.

Starbuck climbed the ladder created to allow access to the catwalk above, then picked his way along the grating till he found his way to his viper. He sat, legs dangling over the edge, his back resting against the craft. Then, leading his head back and closing his eyes, he let the picture fall to his lap.

He woke, unsure how much time had passed, to find the captain sitting next to him, regarding him silently. For a long moment, they shared the silence together. It was unusual, thought Starbuck. There was usually always tension between them. But the captain’s face wasn’t blank. He looked... concerned.

“Did I care, before?” Starbuck asked suddenly.

An expression crossed Apollo’s face, too quickly for Starbuck to discern. “About?” he asked guardedly.

Starbuck’s stomach sank as the captain’s habitual indifferent faade threatened to return. To cover his confusion, he waved a hand. “Being from a good family. Was that why Sheba was sniping at me? Because it would have been a sore point,” he gestured, “ ‘before’?”

“Frankly, I think it says more about Sheba’s own obsessions,” Apollo said frankly, a grimace on his face. “But as for you...” Apollo paused. “I don’t know.”

“Boomer claims we were friends, you and I. Isn’t that the sort of things friends would know about one another?”

Apollo shrugged. “You would think.” Something like regret crossed Apollo’s face.

“So, friends on the surface,” Starbuck wondered aloud, testing the concept. “Social friends. Not...”

“We were friends,” Apollo said sharply. “You just...,” he gestured helplessly, “I think you tried to make it seem as if you didn’t care. Easy come, easy go.”

“Like my father?” Starbuck asked grimly.

“Not like Chameleon,” Apollo said. “I think you’re very unlike him, underneath it all. But in some of your mannerisms. Yes, there are some similarities.”

Very unlike Chamelion was reassuring, but he didn’t want to be anything like Chameleon at all. “And that’s why you didn’t tell me he was really my father. Before?” Starbuck asked, suddenly hostile. “No. No, never mind. I’m not mad at you. Or maybe I am. It’s just... Why the frack did he have to hand me that picture then and there. I would have been thrilled to get it -- to see that the woman in the picture looks like the mother I remember. But now it feels...” Starbuck sighed. “I’m being stupid. I just feel...”

“What?” Apollo encouraged.

Starbuck shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Please?” The entreaty was low. Starbuck turned to look at the other man, whose green eyes held such entreaty that Starbuck nearly found himself breathless.

“Raw,” he responded unthinkingly. “Just... raw all the time. And alone.”

“You’re not -- ”

“Oh, maybe I was the life of the party, back then. Sure, good ol’ Starbuck, always good for a laugh. Or so the stories seem to go. But did anyone actually give a shit about me?” Starbuck sighed. “No, that’s not fair. Boomer’s been a good friend to me. And Greenbean and Jolly and Giles,” he added. “Ah, ignore me. I blame the shrink for this. The sessions with him make me far too introspective.”

“What does he say?” Apollo asked neutrally.

“Oh,” Starbuck flapped a hand. “Repressed memories, abandonment issues, overcompensation. Closure. He really likes that word.”

“Ah.” Apollo said.

“Like I said, typical. In a fleet of people fleeing from their homeland’s destruction, I can’t imagine that my problems are anything more than run of the mill. Maybe I lost someone really important to me? Back in the colonies?” Starbuck looked hopefully into Apollo’s face.

Apollo hesitated. “Not that I know of,” he said. “You cared quite a bit for Cassie.”

“Mmm. Talked to her. Seems our relationship ended more-or-less amicably.” Starbuck thought about the blonde woman. She’d been sweetly patient with and protective of him during those sectons when his memory had leaked like a sieve. But he got the feeling that her boyfriend, Bojay, was wary of what Cassie’s protective instincts might propel her to do and so Starbuck had kept their interaction to a minimum after he’d left the Life Center.

“Look, enough of this self-pitying felger,” Starbuck said, rising to his feet, suddenly feeling disgusted with himself. “I should, dunno. Call and thank Chameleon for the picture.”

“He is worried about you,” Apollo said. “And sorry that events... unfolded... as they did.”

Starbuck snorted.

“It was a misguided attempt to defend you. To prove that you were just as worthy as Sheba.”

“Worthy of what, though? No, never mind,” Starbuck held a hand up. “Probably better not to know.”

Apollo shut his mouth on whatever answer he might have given. “Could I see the picture?” he asked instead.

“Sure.” Starbuck handed the holopic over. “She’s...”

“I see her.” Apollo brushed his finger over the laughing girl’s face. “You look a lot alike.”

“Thanks,” Starbuck said, looking down at the picture. Sharing it now with Apollo went a long way toward erasing the high hysterics surrounding Chameleon’s presentation of it. He smiled at Apollo.

Apollo smiled back and suddenly something about the feel of the moment made Starbuck catch his breath. Shaking his head he took a step backwards. “We’d best get going,” Starbuck said. “Before the techs start to worry we’re planning on jumping.”

Apollo nodded, his expression blank again. “After you.”

-=-

Starbuck had immediately gotten a tech -- a lovely girl named Jules from IFB -- to enlarge the photograph and crop it so that he had a portrait his mother, which he pinned to the wall above his bunk. Boomer, one day coming to fetch him before patrol, glanced at it, but asked no questions. And Starbuck knew that Boomer had been told who the blonde woman was. Strangely, Starbuck was equally certain that it had not been Apollo who’d told the tale. It could have been Athena. But more likely it was related to the fact that Sheba had attempted to get in a few digs about Starbuck’s ‘jumped up’ status, to the mystification of most of the rest of the pilots.

“Starbuck,” Bojay had said, bewildered. “He’s as common as dirt. And proud of it.” And Sheba had tossed her long hair and looked irritated that she hadn’t found anyone to join in on castigating Starbuck for his social-climbing tendencies. With a certain amount of relief, Starbuck realized that Sheba was not entirely popular. More than that, Starbuck realized that, for all his own reputation as a rake and a rogue, there was a sort of bone-deep certainty among the other pilots about what Starbuck would, and would not, do. Starbuck felt comforted by Sheba’s unintentional favor -- he actually felt more like part of the team after that.

He still wasn’t quite sure what he’d done, though, to get on the woman’s bad side. No one seemed to know but Boomer, and possibly Apollo, and neither was telling.

After a secton or so, the hubbub died away, and Starbuck found that he was finally settled into a routine. There was patrol six days a secton for four centares each day, plus briefing before and debriefing after. Then there were the four centares during which he was technically “on duty.” Which left him roughly eight centares for sleep, and roughly six centares “free.” Which was spent playing pyramid, triad, or, more recently, spending time with Jules. She had found the story of his long-lost mother, and his long-lost memories, romantic, but was somewhat cynical about Starbuck himself. For some reason, Starbuck found this dichotomy comforting. That she was both attractive and intelligent just rounded out the package.

The first of his two leave-days always, but always, included a “family” meal with Chameleon. Starbuck had managed to move said obligatory meal to a morning-ish spot. Which meant that he got to sleep in and rise to a tolerable brunch, more in terms of the food than the company he kept. The rest of the day was spent idly, unless Jules had a free day, too. In which case they spent it together, and often the next day, too.

At least two nights a sectare, always on the second of his two leave-nights, he was invited to dinner at Apollo’s. At first the dinners were stilted affairs, with Apollo solemn and quiet and Boxey on his best behavior. But eventually, Boxey’s irrepressible spirits could be repressed no longer and Starbuck found they naturally formed a team that conspired to tease a little life into Boxey’s occasionally stuffy father. Apollo, when he loosened up, was good company. And he had, Starbuck noticed, a very attractive smile.

Very attractive.

After a few uncomfortable dreams, that attractiveness led Starbuck to ask a question of Boomer one day. “Boomer?” Starbuck said one day after patrol.

“Hmmm?” Boomer replied. He sat with his feet up on a chair, in complete disregard for OC protocol, and sipped at his drink, eyes closed.

“Do I -- ? Have I ever -- ?” Starbuck paused, wondering how to phrase the question.

Boomer opened one eye and looked at Starbuck blearily.

“That new girlfriend of yours is a bad influence,” Starbuck chastised mildly. “Keeping you up all centares of the day and night.”

A grin spread across Boomer’s features. “Oh yes she does. But,” Boomer continued on severely, “you were saying?”

Starbuck grunted.

Boomer opened both eyes and looked at Starbuck, his expression annoyed. “You were going to ask a question. What is it?”

Starbuck sighed. “Do -- ? That is, have I ever...?”

“Yes,” Boomer said decisively. “You have.”

“What d’you mean, I have? I haven’t even asked the question.” Starbuck looked at Boomer, aggrieved.

“You’re Starbuck. If you haven’t done it, nobody has.” Boomer smirked, then yawned, his eyes closing again.

“This is serious,” Starbuck said, disgruntled.

“Okay then. What?”

“Am I just a ladies man?” Starbuck asked elliptically.

“Just a ladies man?” Boomer’s eyes had snapped open again and he was regarding Starbuck with amusement. “Starbuck, you’re not ‘just’ anything.”

“I mean, have I ever. With, you know, um. Guys?”

Boomer sat up in his chair and regarded Starbuck seriously. “Starbuck. Why do you ask -- have you remembered something?”

“No. I just... thought that maybe I’d figured out why Apollo was uncomfortable around me at first. Because, if I were to go for a guy...” Starbuck’s voice trailed off.

“You’d go for him?” Boomer asked, expressionless.

Starbuck gave a tiny nod. “And maybe I did. Go for him. And I screwed up our friendship somehow when, I dunno. Did something stupid?”

“What makes you think it was you that did something wrong?” Boomer asked, his voice grave.

Starbuck shrugged.

“So it’s not as if you’ve remembered something.”

“No.” Starbuck looked at Boomer. “So there’s something to remember?”

Boomer remained silent.

“Give me a break, Boom-Boom,” Starbuck said. “Don’t you think, if I were going to remember the past twenty-odd yahrens, I would have remembered something by now? But I haven’t. Couldn’t you, maybe, just fill me in? So I know what I’m dealing with? And, more importantly, so I don’t do, or say, something stupid? Apollo and me, we’re finally getting along. Things with Chameleon are on an even keel. I just don’t want to rock the boat.”

Boomer rubbed at his eyes. “Starbuck, I...” he began apologetically.

“Fine. Never mind,” Starbuck said shortly. “Just promise that you won’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

“Who would I tell?”

“Whoever. Just promise.” Starbuck caught Boomer’s gaze and held it.

“Okay,” Boomer said reluctantly. “Okay, I won’t tell.”

Starbuck held Boomer’s gaze for a moment longer. “All right, then. Got to go meet Jules for a quick drink. See you back at the barracks.”

“Right,” Boomer said. “See you.”

-=-

It had to be it. The source of friction between Apollo and him. He’d done or said something to make Apollo uncomfortable. And Apollo was straight. Was widowed. Had a kid. Had intended to seal with Sheba. Starbuck shifted uncomfortably in his chair, altogether too conscious of the man sitting across from him. And now that it was clear that Starbuck didn’t remember anything about it, and wasn’t going to try it again, Apollo was becoming comfortable around him again.

But if the old Starbuck had been plagued by dreams like the ones he was now having, he could sort of sympathize with anything his former self might have done. Because it wasn’t just that the sex was fantastic, even though, according to his dreams, it would be. It was just that in those few rare dreams where he was simply sleeping by Apollo’s side, he felt as if everything was all right with the universe. Meanwhile, everything was not all right in Starbuck’s waking universe. His dreams had conspired to make the twice-sectare dinners with Apollo a refined sort of torture.

Starbuck looked down at his plate of mushies, dripping with chocolate sauce, with disfavor. “Boxey, I can’t possibly finish. Do you want them?”

Boxey looked at him owlishly. “Are you feeling okay?” Boxey asked.

“Yeah. Just a bit tired, maybe.” Starbuck smiled, hoping to get a smile in return. The kid looked concerned. Starbuck tried to recoup the situation, to start the usual banter that they had over the disposition of Starbuck’s dessert. “But too many sweets before bedtime isn’t good for you,” he said. “Maybe I should give them to your dad.”

The line didn’t get the usual protest from Boxey, or the usual teasing smile sent by father to son.

“Starbuck, are you feeling okay?” Apollo asked seriously. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“A silent Starbuck -- unusual, right?” Starbuck said tiredly.

Apollo turned white. “Boxey. Off to bed with you.”

Boxey looked from his father to Starbuck and back, and then without any of his usual protests about not being sleepy, slipped out of his chair. “‘Night,” he whispered, then flung his arms around Starbuck’s shoulders Starbuck leaned into the embrace, feeling unaccountably weepy.

“Night, kiddo.” He ruffled Boxey’s hair.

Boxey went to his father and they exchanged a hug and a kiss. “I’ll be in later to check on you,” Apollo murmured. Boxey nodded, and headed off to his room. Apollo waited until the door closed before standing and moving to the couch, indicating that Starbuck should join him. “So,” Apollo said quietly once Starbuck was sitting next to him. “What have you remembered?”

“Remembered?” Starbuck asked. “Nothing. It’s all still a blank.”

“Starbuck, please don’t keep things from me. Talk to me.”

“Keep things from you?” Starbuck felt bewildered. “Hey, buddy. I’m not the one who is so closemouthed about my past. It’s you and Boomer who seem to know some big secret about me that you’re not telling. So don’t talk to me about ‘keeping things’ from you.” Anger, raw and hot, had surged up, and Starbuck tried to swallow it back down.

“You’re angry,” Apollo said.

“Yes. I am. But I don’t know why.” Starbuck shook his head, frustrated. “Or rather, I do. Look, just tell me what I did, so that I know, okay? So that I don’t do it again?”

“Boomer said you thought that you’d done something wrong.” Apollo laughed. It was not a happy noise. “You didn’t, okay? You did nothing wrong.”

Starbuck looked through Apollo through narrowed eyes. “So, Boomer told you that did he? What else did he tell you?”

“What else is there to tell?” Apollo fired back. “No. No, wait. He just said that you’d thought you’d done something wrong and that was why I’ve behaved so... distantly... toward you since you woke up. He told me that you had some crazy theory that you and Sheba... Gods.” Suddenly Apollo moved closer, grabbed Starbuck’s shoulder and shook it. “Believe me, Starbuck. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Starbuck looked down at the hand that had closed over his shoulder, then up into Apollo’s green, green eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, the anger rising to the surface again. “Are you sure I didn’t do something like this?” And then he leaned forward and sought the other man’s lips with his own.

And then he cursed himself for doing exactly what he’d told himself never to do -- exactly what he’d done to mess things up last time -- and tried to pull back.

Only... Apollo’s arms had encircled Starbuck tightly, and he was groaning -- a low desperate sound that had Starbuck instantly hard. Starbuck melted back into the kiss, his tongue slipping into Apollo’s mouth. One of Apollo’s hands slipped up to cradle Starbuck’s head. The other slipped pulled him closer, and then Apollo moved over him, pressing Starbuck back against the couch. Apollo’s kisses were demanding, consuming, and Starbuck answered the demand unconsciously. It wasn’t until Apollo was on top of him, hungrily kissing Starbuck’s neck that Starbuck came to his senses.

“Wait,” he said, struggling upwards. “Wait. What the hell is going on here? And... Jules. There’s Jules.”

Apollo stiffened, then reluctantly sat up, shifting back toward his end of the couch. “Lords, is the shoe ever on the other foot now.” He ran fingers through his hair distractedly.

“Explain,” Starbuck demanded. Apollo hesitated and Starbuck let the anger that still simmered within him spill to the surface again. “I swear, Apollo, if you give me any felger about letting my memories come back on their own, I’ll... Frack!” Starbuck leapt to his feet and began pacing the length of the living quarters.

“Were we lovers?” Starbuck asked. “Stupid question,” he said to himself. “I don’t think you would have leapt on me like that, else. But you were married,” he said. “You were married and were planning to be again. So I was, what... Your bit on the side?” Starbuck swung to face Apollo, who started at him with a dismayed expression on his face.

“Starbuck no! I... It’s hard to explain.”

“Can you try, then, ’Pol? Because I don’t know what to make of this. I hate the way I -- ” Starbuck spun away again, cutting off the rest of the thought.

“Hate the way you what?” Apollo’s voice was soft behind him. Soft footfalls told Starbuck that Apollo had stood, too, and was now standing just a few steps behind him.

Starbuck closed his eyes. Hate the way I’ve been dreaming about you, he thought. Hate the fact that right now I just want to turn to you and let you kiss the questions away. “Tell me, Apollo,” he said sternly.

Apollo sighed. “Okay, just let’s... Go into my bedroom? I don’t mean that the way it probably sounds,” he added hurriedly. “Just... Boxey. I don’t want him to hear us.”

Starbuck turned back to face Apollo, a cynical expression on his face. “Sure,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Apollo nodded. Once inside the room, Starbuck shut the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Fill in the blanks, ’Pol,” Starbuck said when Apollo showed no signs of speaking.

Apollo hugged himself across the chest, closed his eyes, and began to speak. “The story, stripped to the bare bones is this.” Apollo opened his eyes, the green gaze somehow lost. “You didn’t like me much when we first met. Sort of like your reaction to me when you woke up without any memory. We became wingmates, then friends. Then lovers. And then I got married, to Boxey’s mother.”

Starbuck blinked at the blunt recital. Somehow he couldn’t take it in and found himself focusing on the fact that he hadn’t realized that Boxey wasn’t Apollo’s natural son.

“Boxey’s mother was killed. We resumed our relationship. I got engaged to Sheba. Set a date. You demanded to be reassigned to another squadron, and I did as you asked. And then you nearly got yourself killed protecting your new wingmate. Woke up without any memory. And couldn’t remember me from one minute to the next.”

Starbuck felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “That’s all there is to it?”

“All?” Apollo laughed harshly. “No, Starbuck. That’s just the bare bones. But they’re not very pretty, are they?”

“Did we even care for one another? Or was it just... fucking? I mean, I seemed to have gone through women like water...” Starbuck tried to make this new information fit with what he’d gleaned about his past. His dreams indicated that he, at least, had cared. He certainly never dreamed about any of the women of his former acquaintance.

Apollo took three steps forward and grabbed Starbuck by the shoulders. “Starbuck,” Apollo began, softly.

Starbuck shook Apollo’s hands off, and his own reaction to the other man’s touch. “I need to go, Apollo. Need to think about this. I need to...” Starbuck turned and made his way out the door, pausing only in the hallway outside Apollo’s quarters to call back, “Tell Boxey I’m sorry that I didn’t say goodnight. That I had to...” Starbuck gestured emptily, then strode off down the hall toward the lift.

-=-

His patrol with Boomer the next day was conducted in near-silence, but after it was over, Boomer pulled him into a quiet corner in the OC.

“Can’t be much fun playing middleman,” Starbuck observed.

“Tell me about it,” Boomer said sourly. “You okay?”

“Oh, just dandy. Thank you for asking.

Boomer winced. “Look...”

“Can’t help think that this whole bit about letting my memory ‘come back on its own’ was very convenient for Apollo,” Starbuck said sarcastically. “Was he hoping I’d never remember?”

“You’re pissed. And have every right to be,” Boomer added placatingly. “But Apollo...”

“Apollo what?” Starbuck asked when Boomer’s voice trailed off.

“I don’t know how to explain,” Boomer said helplessly. “It’s hard, because, Starbuck, you’re still very much you. But you’re different, too.”

“I’m the same, yet different? Well, that clears up matters.” Starbuck blew out a breath in frustration.

“Maybe you should try hypnosis,” Boomer said hopefully.

“Hypnosis?”

“To help you remember.”

“No offense to you. And Greenbean and Jolly and a few others. But frankly, at this point, I think the counselor is right. I don’t want to remember.”

Boomer groaned quietly.

“Look. I don’t ask you to take sides,” Starbuck said. “Just please. I’m going to be avoiding the captain, for a while at least. And...” Starbuck bit his lip.

“What,” Boomer asked warily.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Boom-Boom? But I want to feel sure that anything I say to you doesn’t make its way back to the captain.”

Boomer was silent for a long moment. “Fair enough,” Boomer said. “Can I say one thing, Starbuck?”

“No,” Starbuck replied. “No you can’t.”

-=-

The hardest part of the situation was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Boxey, who wasn’t sure why Starbuck’s twice-sectare dinners had to stop. Starbuck couldn’t find it in him to disappoint the boy knowing how much it would have meant to him when he was that age. A compromise was negotiated wherein Starbuck picked up Boxey after instruction once every other secton, and took him to play triad. Boxey was also angling for pyramid lessons, but the game was too closely tied to Starbuck’s memories of Chameleon, so he managed to stave the request off, secton by secton.

And then it was Boxey’s birthday. “You’re coming to my party, right?” Boxey asked.

“Sure. I think that can be arranged.” How bad could it be, Starbuck thought? He managed to get through briefings and debriefings just fine, even the occasional pyramid game. This party would be full of people, doubtless. There’d be plenty of other people to talk to.

Except the party, as it turned out, was small. He and Boomer were the only non-family members present, excepting for seven of Boxey’s school friends. They weren’t great conversationalists, but fortunately, they kept Apollo fairly busy. Within a half centare, Apollo looked frazzled by his efforts to wrangle the eight children, intent on wreaking havoc in the arcade, into some sort of order. Tearing them away from the games in order to shepherd them through the corridors and back to his quarters, where sarnies and cake waited seemed to be almost too much for the captain’s usually impressive organizational skills.

The commander and Athena stood in a corner, watching with amusement. Athena eventually stepped in to help, and the commander moved over to join Boomer and Starbuck.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Boomer and Starbuck said.

“At ease, gentleman.” The commander smiled. “Nice of you two to come.”

“Not at all,” Starbuck said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Boomer added.

“You’re looking well, Starbuck,” Adama said.

“Thanks. I’m feeling okay.” Starbuck nodded awkwardly. He’d seen the commander, of course, but this was the first time he’d had a face-to-face meeting beyond the commander’s brief visit when Starbuck was still in the Life Center. “Glad to be settling into a routine,” he added, not sure what sort of idle chit-chat to serve up.

“Well, you don’t seem to have lost any of your flying skills. An excellent thing, considering how often the fleet has had cause to give thanks for them.”

“Uh. Thanks. And I have an excellent wingman,” Starbuck said, indicating Boomer.

Boomer grinned. “Yup, he does.”

Starbuck relaxed slightly, but then tensed when Apollo appeared. “Everything okay over here?” Apollo asked, his gaze flickering from face to face before resting on his father’s.

“No need for you to worry about us. We can make it back to your quarters just fine,” Adama said.

“We’ll bring up the rear,” said Starbuck. The sight of Apollo looking harried nearly caused Starbuck to give in to the melting feeling that threatened to overtake him. “Make sure you don’t lose any stragglers.”

“Thanks.” Apollo said gratefully. “Though I’m hoping the cake will lure them. I’ll see you there.” He smiled and Starbuck felt his heart clench. But just for a moment.

“Boomer, why don’t you go help Apollo,” Adama said. “I think Starbuck and I can manage the stragglers between us.”

“Certainly, sir,” Boomer said. “C’mon, Apollo.” He grabbed Apollo by a shoulder and dragged the reluctant man toward the exit and the long line of noisy children. Apollo threw a pleading glance back at his father, who simply smiled and waved him on. Starbuck suddenly felt nervous.

Adama began to make for the door at a measured pace. “Salik is pleased with your recovery,” he said. “I’m very glad of that, Starbuck. It’s not just your skills that would have been missed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Starbuck shrugged, embarrassed.

“If there’s anything I can do,” Adama said. “Let me know.”

“I will, sir. Thanks again,” Starbuck said. “Ah, we shouldn’t neglect our duty,” Starbuck indicated the disappearing throng. “Besides, I’d like to at least taste the cake,” he added.

“Right.” Adama briefly clapped a hand on Starbuck’s shoulder, and together they exited the arcade.

Once inside Apollo’s quarters, Starbuck rejoined Boomer. “That was weird,” Starbuck said.

“What?” Boomer swallowed a mouthful of cake and looked around the room in disfavor. “Did you ever notice that kids’ voices can reach decibel levels no normal human being can? Hurts my ears.”

Starbuck snickered. “Ten more centons, Boxey will open his presents, and then you can make good your escape.”

“It’s your job to protect my back,” Boomer reminded.

“Right.” Starbuck ate a mouthful of cake. “So, are you trying to change the subject?”

Boomer sighed. “Yeah.”

“So the commander seeking me out was a little weird, then.”

“Well, no. Not as such. Before,” Boomer swallowed his own mouthful, “you had a sort of... familial... relationship with Adama. In a weird sort of way.”

“Huh. So he’s just welcoming me back into the fold? Why wait so long? It’s been sectares since the accident.”

Boomer was silent. “He had his heart set on Apollo marrying Sheba,” he said finally.

“And he blamed me for it not happening?”

“Not entirely, no.”

“Which means, somewhat, yes. So he’s forgiven me?”

“I think Apollo made it clear he had to.”

Starbuck glanced at Apollo out of the corner of his eye. “He didn’t have to do that.”

“No,” Boomer agreed. “He didn’t have to. But, more often than not, he tends to do what he thinks is right whether it profits him or not. He’s also not the type to give up easily.”

Starbuck’s stomach fluttered in response to the last remark, but he only uttered a noncommittal “Huh.”

They finished their cake in silence, and then laughed and clapped along with the other guests as Boxey opened his gifts. And as if a silent signal had gone out, parents began to appear at Apollo’s door to collect their offspring.

“Thanks for the vid game,” Boxey said to the both of them. “It looks very cool.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for inviting us,” Starbuck said.

“I’m glad you could come.” Boxey smiled up at the two men, then flung his arms around Starbuck and hugged him fiercely. “Come play it with me sometime?”

“Sure. If it’s okay with your dad, I’ll be glad to.”

“Dad won’t mind,” Boxey said confidently. “You could visit him, too.”

Boomer smirked. “You’ve got them coming at you from all fronts, Starbuck.”

Starbuck shoved Boomer’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Goodbye, Boxey,” Boomer said. “We have patrol tonight, so we have to take off.”

“You should take some of the cake back to the barracks.” Apollo had joined the conversation.

“Dad!”

“Boxey, there’s plenty. We don’t have room in the cooler for it all,” Apollo said repressively. “Give me two centons and I’ll pack it up.”

“I actually have to get back,” Boomer said apologetically. “There’s some stuff I have to do before shift begins. Starbuck, would you...”

“All fronts, my...” Starbuck stopped and smiled at Boxey. “Okay, sure.”

“Great. See you in a few.” Boomer exited, leaving Apollo, Boxey, and Starbuck all standing in a circle.

“Um. Well, I’m going to go put my gifts in my room,” Boxey said.

“And I’ll get the cake. I’ll be quick, Starbuck.”

“All right.” Starbuck walked to the couch, now mercifully free of loud, rambunctious children. Apollo was, as promised, quick, and was soon standing before Starbuck, proffering a long flat container.

“Thanks for coming. It meant a lot to Boxey.”

“He’s a great kid,” Starbuck said.

“I think so.”

“Well, I should get this back to the barracks.” Starbuck took the container from Apollo. There was an awkward pause. “I’ll see you around.”

“Right.” Apollo said. “See you.”

-=-

The day after Boxey’s birthday dinner, Apollo began to pursue him in earnest. He flirted across the pyramid table, and to Boomer’s delight, and the confusion of Giles, Jolly, and Greenbean, he initially managed to fluster Starbuck so much so that he barely came out even when he counted his winnings.

It felt as if Starbuck only had to look up, and there Apollo would be, green eyes intent and lips curved in a lazy grin. Starbuck wasn’t the only one vaguely unnerved. More than once a pilot had commented, “You know, I never would have thought of you and Apollo as a couple. But it kind of makes sense.” Although, as often as not, the remark would be followed by a dubious look.

At times it was hard, hard not to reach out and grab the man and acquiesce to the invitation. And by the smile on his face, Apollo knew it. Apollo’s forays grew bolder and Starbuck found himself pulled into Apollo’s office and kissed to the verge of breathlessness on more than one occasion.

The non-stop seduction only ceased during the family dinners. For the benefit of Boxey, Starbuck presumed. Except there were strange changes there, too. A cautious Athena appeared at one meal, and a solemn Adama at another. And Apollo had taken it upon himself, one day, to appear at one of Starbuck’s brunches with Chameleon.

It was a disaster.

Chameleon had come over paternal and protective. Apollo, who had arrived and started out all cordiality, then became remote and finished off on a note of icy politeness.

On the upside, Chameleon had departed without inviting Starbuck to join him in a game of pyramid.

It all combined to make Starbuck wonder whether he had made the right choice when he had broken matters off with Jules. But there was something insistent in the attraction he felt for Apollo. He was constantly tugged off-balance by it.

Apollo seemed to sense his confusion and pulled out all the stops. Finally Starbuck arranged for what he figured Apollo had been angling for all along and arranged for a room on the _Rising Star_.

Maybe it was true that the, ‘unresolved...tension,’ as Boomer phrased it, lent the relationship an aura of unreality. Too much anticipation, perhaps, couldn’t bear up under the strain of both Apollo’s real memories and Starbuck’s half-remembered ones. That’s it, Starbuck, he told himself, think about the sex. If it was only half as good as he’d dreamed... Then he stopped, caught short by the hope that his dreams had given enough information to make a good showing.

On the other hand, things with Jules had been more than merely pleasant, so, he comforted himself, he’d probably do just fine here, too. Better than fine, in fact.

“You okay?” Apollo asked as Starbuck inspected the room.

“Yeah. S’nice place.” Starbuck wandered the room, wondering whether Apollo would want to ease into it or...

Apollo sat down on the bed and patted the mattress beside him. Or just dive right in, Starbuck thought, crossing the room to join him.

“Relax,” Apollo said. “We’ll take it nice and easy, see?” Leaning forward, he gently pressed his lips to Starbuck’s, then sat back.

“That’s nice, too.” Starbuck was again aware of the aura of unreality. Had he dreamed this so many times that he couldn’t take in that it was actually happening?

“Mmm. Isn’t it though?”

Starbuck smiled, charmed by Apollo’s attempt at smugness. This time he leaned in first and sought the other man’s mouth. Warm, pliant lips greeted his, and Apollo’s hands came up to cradle his head.

“Very nice,” Apollo affirmed again.

“Hmmm,” Starbuck said. His own hands were busily undoing the fastenings to Apollo’s shirt, and then he was sliding his hands over smooth skin. Apollo shivered as Starbuck’s hand ghosted over a nipple. “I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

“I think you are,” Apollo said, laughing.

Starbuck pressed Apollo back against the mattress. Apollo’s legs spread to cradle Starbuck’s hips, and Starbuck teased himself, first grinding his erection against the other man’s groin, then sliding it slowly in the crease between thigh and abdomen. Starbuck slanted his mouth over Apollo’s, relishing the taste, the slick slide of their wet mouths.

And then Apollo moved, quick as a cat, and rolled Starbuck underneath him. “Let’s get these clothes off,” he said, straddling Starbuck’s body. Apollo shrugged his own shirt off his shoulders, then attacked Starbuck’s, flinging it to one side. A bare moment as Apollo stroked Starbuck’s chest, and then he was intent on removing Starbuck’s trousers, and then his own.

Starbuck barely had a moment to note that Apollo’s long, lean body looked just as it had in his dreams before Apollo was laying full-length atop him.

“See how nice this is?” Apollo said.

Starbuck just groaned at the sensation of all of Apollo’s lovely skin pressed up against his own. Heat was building, inexorably. When Apollo’s lips found his again, and he moved so that his erection glided against Starbuck’s own, Starbuck found himself on the edge of a memory, on the edge of... “‘Pol, I -- This just -- “

“C’mon,” Apollo crooned, his body undulating over Starbuck’s. “Come for me. Come on.”

Starbuck barely needed the encouragement and with a long moan, he came in hard, fast pulses.

Apollo sat up and grinned at him. “Huh. First time...” He stopped and shook his head.

“First time?” Starbuck said, raising an eyebrow.

“Our first time,” Apollo said, “But not our last.” He ran his hands avidly down Starbuck’s body, a possessive glint in his eye.

Starbuck slid a hand through the thread of come on Apollo’s abdomen and then down to the erection bobbing underneath it. Apollo bit his lip and groaned as Starbuck’s hand closed around it. Slowly, Starbuck pumped it up and down, pressure firm, then extending a thumb over the now-purple head. He watched avidly as Apollo’s head fell back, and raised his other hand to tweak a nipple, grinning as Apollo jumped. Then he grasped Apollo’s cock with both hands.

“Starbuck,” Apollo whispered. “Star, please.”

“Lay down,” Starbuck said.

Unsteadily Apollo moved from his position astride Starbuck, then fell back to the bed, arms and legs outspread.

The man was gorgeous, Starbuck thought. Then he bent down and, flattening his tongue against the tip of the other man’s cock, licked his way to the root along a long, lush curving route.

Apollo whimpered.

Starbuck’s tongue traveled back to the head again, swirling there, then made its way down the underside of Apollo’s cock and back up. Apollo’s hand came up to grasp Starbuck’s hair.

“I like your hair long, Star,” Apollo said with a groan. “For more reasons than one.”

Starbuck embraced the sensation, somehow familiar, of fingers carding their way through the thick strands of his hair and then tenderly but firmly, pressing against his scalp. With a wicked smile he sealed his mouth over Apollo’s cock, slid down to the root, and swallowed.

Apollo arched up to meet the motion, as if he expected it, yelling, “Yes!” as he did so. Starbuck bobbed up and down, sucking deeply, determined that Apollo would not last all that much longer than he himself had. On the next tip down he grazed teeth gently over the head, then swirled his tongue on the way back up, all along the vein on the underside.

And with that, Apollo emptied himself into Starbuck’s mouth.

Starbuck crawled up the length of Apollo’s body, pausing to kiss key parts of Apollo’s anatomy along the way. “Mmmph,” he said, finally insinuating his head in the crook of Apollo’s neck.

“Mmmph?” Apollo said. “Much, much better than that. Much, much better.” And those were the last words Starbuck heard before he fell into a deep sleep.

-=-

The next morning Starbuck found himself not sure whether he was awake or dreaming. The sensation of having a beloved body curled up next to him was familiar, but he was used to waking and finding it just a dream.

“Awake?” Apollo said.

“Hmm. Wasn’t dreaming, then,” Starbuck said.

“Nope,” Apollo began to anoint Starbuck’s neck with sucking, biting kisses that soon had Starbuck writhing. “Starbuck, can I...”

“Can you?”

“It’s just been, oh, so long,” Apollo whispered.

Starbuck took the hint and rolled on his stomach, allowing his legs to fall open. Apollo moaned, low in his throat, and lay atop him, teeth gently, then sharply, nipping at Starbuck’s neck. Apollo’s pressed his cock to lie between Starbuck’s buttocks, his hands pushing Starbuck’s arms outward. Then Apollo laid his hands over Starbuck’s own and twined their fingers together. For a few moments Apollo feasted on Starbuck’s neck, and then he teasingly began stroking the length of his cock along Starbuck’s crease.

“We need...” Apollo murmured. Rolling quickly to one side, he fumbled with the bag he’d dropped by the bedside the night before. With an “ah, gotcha,” he rolled back into position, a tube of slick clutched in one hand. Quickly he anointed his hand with the substance, then began teasing Starbuck’s hole. Starbuck clenched around the probing fingers. For a fleeting moment he felt unsure and then Apollo found his prostate and Starbuck found himself humping the bed in near ecstasy.

“Gods. Too much. Too...”

Apollo eased back, concentrating on making Starbuck relax. The fingers stroked inside, as Apollo’s other hand smoothed the skin up the length of Starbuck’s back and back down again. Soon Starbuck was sighing into the sensation, warm and tingling from head to foot.

“Apollo?” he asked.

“Ready?” Apollo answered.

“Yes.”

Apollo again stretched himself atop Starbuck’s back, his hands again coming to rest over Starbuck’s, fingers entwined. Slowly, slowly, Starbuck felt himself breached. He tensed, then heard Apollo whisper, “Breathe...”

He did, relaxing on the exhale, instinctively bearing down as Apollo pressed inward.

“Oh...” Starbuck moaned.

“Yes...” Apollo replied.

The next glide inward was long and smooth, the one after made Starbuck writhe, and the fourth made sparks light the inside of his eyelids. The pace increased from steady to fierce to pounding and Starbuck found himself breathless, gasping with pleasure.

And then Apollo was juddering with his own release till it ended, and he collapsed. Starbuck breathed out with a groan, his still-hard erection trapped beneath him.

“Gods, Starbuck. Gods.” Apollo lay still for a moment, then slowly withdrew, rising to press fervent kisses down Starbuck’s spine. With a long “hmmm,” he rolled Starbuck onto his back so that he lay spread-eagled. “You,” he said, “look gorgeous. Delicious.” Then his mouth descended on Starbuck’s agonizingly hard cock and Starbuck shuddered his own way to completion.

-=-

The sectonend seemed to whet Apollo’s appetite for Starbuck. Starbuck felt as if he were a sweet that Apollo had been long-denied and was now determined to glut himself on. Either that or he was some new sort of ornament that the captain needed to polish repeatedly, so that it glittered and shone.

It wasn’t that he had any objections to sex. He liked it. Lots. And liked lots of it. And with Apollo it was better than good. But he longed for more quiet, more -- and he blushed as he thought it -- communion. He savored the quiet times, when they stayed in Apollo’s quarters. Dined with Boxey. Watched a vid. But Apollo didn’t seem content, seem compelled to proffer more, and constant, activity.

Starbuck found himself stepping back, watching. Wondering whether Apollo, like the crowds he’d first observed on the _Rising Star_ , was having the time of his life, or only trying to convince himself of it.

It only made him more uneasy when Apollo asked him to move in and share his quarters. A long-ago comment of Boomer echoed in his ear -- “Apollo does what he thinks is right, whether it profits him or not.”

Maybe this time Apollo was trying to do the right thing, but not averse to wringing every drop of profit he could from the situation along the way.

-=-

It took Starbuck a secton to agree to the idea. But finally he acquiesced and found himself standing at the OC bar as his friends toasted to their happiness.

“You’ll have him baby-sit, Boxey, right?” Jolly asked mock-anxiously. “It’ll cut down on the number of nights he’s available to win more than his fair share of my salary.”

The comment drew laughs all-around. Apollo laughed, too. “I promise, Jolly, I’ll keep his nights occupied to the very best of my ability.”

Starbuck joined in the revelry, but was uneasily aware of Sheba, sitting at a table nearby, and watching the scene closely. Maybe this was a dream, he thought. Maybe he was going to wake up back in the barracks and discover that none of this had happened.

A few of the pilots, too, looked a bit taken aback. “Didn’t know Apollo was going to take it this far,” one said. But that was nothing compared to what the bridge crew thought.

“The old man is keeping quiet, but he’s less than thrilled,” one said.

“But Starbuck seems to be keeping the captain happy, don’t you think?”

“It’s the sex. Starbuck certainly has had enough practice at it. Who wouldn’t be happy with that sort of expertise?”

Starbuck’s face burned, and he took a sip of his drink. He looked back to where Apollo stood, face flushed with apparent happiness. He felt, suddenly, extraneous. He caught Apollo’s eye and mouthed “heading to the flushes.” Once there, he stared at the tile for a moment, glad to be away from the press of people.

Sheba stood in front of him as he exited the door. “It’s guilt,” she said conversationally.

“Guilt?”

“He breaks up with you, asks me to marry him, you nearly get killed. Granted, you two have a lot of history.” She shrugged her shoulders delicately.

Starbuck paused, not really sure what to say. Then he said, “Sounds like sour grapes to me.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be very happy. You certainly succeeded in driving him out of the closet.” Sheba eyed him narrowly. “But he was sealed before, and it’s not as if he’s sealing with you. We’ll just see how long this lasts.” She tossed her head, turned, and made for the OC exit. Starbuck, at a snail’s pace, made his way back to the bar. Again he was struck by that unwelcome comparison -- people trying to have fun rather than actually having fun.

But when Apollo saw him, he just grinned. “Ready to go?”

“Sure,” Starbuck said. Apollo slipped an arm around Starbuck’s waist, and leaned on him, listing slightly, as they made their way back to ‘their’ quarters.

“Home at last,” Apollo said. “Hey, Kim. Thanks for looking after Boxey.”

Boxey’s babysitter blinked tiredly at them. “You’re welcome,” she answered, patiently waiting while Apollo counted out her pay. “He was asleep, last time I checked.”

“Good. Thanks again,” Apollo said. Silence fell until the door shut behind her. Apollo turned to Starbuck. “So...”

“So,” Starbuck said.

“What did Sheba say to you?” Apollo’s eyes narrowed.

“Nothing pleasant,” Starbuck answered. “But also, nothing important.” Pushing away his own doubts, Starbuck gathered Apollo into his arms.

“She’s a spiteful cat,” Apollo said, resting his head on Starbuck’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t believe a word she says.”

“I won’t,” Starbuck said reassuringly, tightening his grasp as Apollo tried to burrow his way deeper into Starbuck’s embrace. But the seeds of doubt planted earlier had just received a landram’s worth of fertilizer.

-=-

Starbuck filed into the emergency briefing. Colonel Tigh stood at the podium; Apollo by his side. Both men looked serious. The other pilots picked up the mood and sat in their seats without any of their usual interplay. As they settled, the silence grew expectant.

“We thought we’d lost the Cylons,” Tigh began. A murmur arose from the pilots, but they stopped when a stellar map flashed onto the screen behind Tigh. “But long-range scans have picked up evidence that there is an outpost here,” he continued, “and that at least one base star is patrolling here.” He indicated a swathe of space along the _Galactica_ ’s projected course. “So far as we know, they haven’t noticed us.”

“We’ll be on high alert until we manage to get clear of this area -- we’ll be backtracking before attempting to go around,” Apollo said. “This means double patrols. I hope you’re all rested because it could be a very long sectare. Leave will be cut to one day, and all nonessential trips to other ships are to cease for the duration.”

The pilots sighed, but nodded resignedly.

“See your squadron leaders for assignments,” Apollo finished.

Starbuck dutifully joined with the other pilots from Red and half-heard Boomer tell them that they’d be working in tandem with Green. “All right, then,” Boomer concluded. “We’re on third shift to start. Best get some rest while you can.”

The other pilots filed out. Starbuck hung back to talk to Boomer.

“Something wrong?” Boomer asked.

“Just...” Starbuck shifted on his feet. “Just think I might want to go get some practice time in on the simulator. I haven’t been in a real battle since...” He waved a hand indicatively.

“Good idea. You go ahead. Then get some rest.”

Starbuck nodded and watched as Boomer went off to join Apollo, Tigh, and the other squadron leaders in a tight huddle. Then he went off to find the simulator.

His session was successful -- he beat the program, hands down. But oddly, his sense of tension only increased. He hadn’t fought in a real fight for a while, and Boomer was counting on him to watch his back. What if he’d forgotten something that could make the difference? Starbuck ran through a program once more, for good measure, then headed back to Apollo’s -- their -- quarters as Boomer had instructed.

Boxey was there, in high spirits because of some game he’d played and won after instruction that day. Starbuck did his best to match them, not sure whether Apollo would want him to tell the boy what was going on.

When Apollo came home a bit later, he did let Boxey in on the news, but reassured him that they would find a way to avoid the Cylons -- hadn’t they always before? Boxey regarded Apollo seriously and nodded, pretending to believe.

Starbuck sympathized.

Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was full of battle dreams. Laser fire squealed around him, he heard muffled thumps as shots hit his shields. But still he hung on grimly as the Cylon Raiders twisted and spun, trying to evade his fire.

There was an explosion of light, and Starbuck sat bolt upright in bed. But the quarters were quiet; there was only the sound of Apollo breathing beside him.

-=-

Apollo called Starbuck on his quietness the next day, but Starbuck insisted it was battle jitters, brought on by his lack of memory. Boomer, too, watched him carefully as they left for and returned from patrol. But Starbuck wasn’t sure what he had remembered -- if it was a memory -- and didn’t want to talk about it at any rate.

Besides, there were more important things to worry about. The first secton of patrols had gone like clockwork, with no Cylons on the horizon. Starbuck began to dream regularly -- dreams that included flashes of battles, enough to reassure Starbuck that he wouldn’t choke when the time came. But with those other visions had come fragmented memories of Apollo. Memories that were, by turns, so sweet and so bitter, that Starbuck sometimes found it hard not to grab hold of the man and shake him until his teeth rattled. The quietness grew between them, and Apollo no longer tried to fill it with frenetic activity.

But then again, there was no time for that sort of thing anymore.

So he concentrated on his patrols instead. Concentrated on the intelligence that suggested that their attempt to make an end run around the Cylon base ship might be for naught -- that the fleet might have to fight its way through a gauntlet after all. And that any such battle might be enough to alert the Cylon homeworld and bring hordes more down on the fleet’s tail again.

It had become a game of hide-and-seek as the navigators and strategists collaborated in an attempt to figure out where to go. Shuffling from one system to the next, as quickly as possible, while making sure that the slower ships were within range of the _Galactica_ ’s protection.

“It would be much easier,” Starbuck said one day, “if we could just blow the base stars out of the sky. Seems to me, by the way we keep coming up against them every which way we turn, that they might have an idea we’re out here.”

Boomer sighed. “It does feel like a game of cat and mouse, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Starbuck fell into a reverie. He felt like he was playing his own game of... he didn’t know what. Dutiful husband, he supposed. Although it was hard. Red was paired with Green and Blue with Brown. With the stepped-up patrols, it seemed he barely saw Apollo anymore. And they were usually both so tired when they did see one another.

Starbuck shook away the thoughts. “We should try sneaking on board again, blow them to kingdom come. Worked last time.”

“Yeah, but until it’s clear that there’s no other resort... Wait a centon. You remember that?”

“No, ’course not,” Starbuck returned blandly. “Looked up old battles and such. Since I don’t remember.”

“Huh.” Boomer looked suspiciously at Starbuck, then gave up and yawned. “Patrol in a centare,” he said.

“Right you are,” said Starbuck, as if surprised.

-=-

In the end, the Cylons found them. Starbuck was roused from his bed by a klaxon call, and red light blinked ominously in the corridors as he ran to the launch bay, still flinging on his flying gear, having delivered Boxey to a neighbor who would then ensure he went home with either the commander or Athena.

“Boomer?” Starbuck called to his wingman.

Boomer was already climbing into his fighter, although he, too, was still wrestling with the flight jacket closures.

“How many?” Starbuck asked.

“Two squadrons,” Boomer replied. “Blue and Brown have them on the run, but we want to get them all, if we can.”

“Right,” Starbuck said, his stomach clenching with fear. But he ignored it and swung up into his viper. And then he was spat out by the _Galactica_ and coursing toward the battle he could see bare flashes of in the distance.

“Formation,” Boomer said in his ear.

“Right.” Starbuck pulled back, aching over the delay. He had to get out there, had to... Instead he dutifully called out his call sign as Boomer did a head count and assured himself that everyone was where they were supposed to be. It seemed an eternity until he could clearly make out the battle.

Three Cylon Raiders, and then another three, swept out of the distant melee and began to head in their direction. The lead pilots in each team made their calls and forged forward to meet them head on.

Boomer’s salvo found its mark, and Starbuck followed up by hitting the ship that had flanked it. It went spiraling off before exploding. Another viper dropped in to take care of the third ship. It was but a moment or two later that Red Squadron sped onward toward where Blue and Brown were making their stand. But by the time they got there, it was all over.

“We showed ’em,” a voice cried in his ear.

“Tin cans can’t shoot for shit,” said another pilot.

Starbuck didn’t share in the general excitement. He had to know whether...

“Okay, everyone. Back to the _Galactica_. That may have just been the first wave. Don’t want to celebrate too early.”

Starbuck heaved a sigh of relief when he heard Apollo’s voice come over the comm.

The pilots’ jubilation quieted and the three squadrons made their way back to the ship. Starbuck touched down and jumped out of his shuttle, unsure what to do about the adrenalin surging through his system.

When Apollo’s viper touched down, Starbuck was on the techs’ heels, and hauled Apollo down to him by main force.

“You don’t go out there without me,” Starbuck said breathlessly. “I don’t like it.”

Apollo smiled and stroked Starbuck’s cheek. “There’s my Starbuck,” he said. And then he drew Starbuck into a kiss. Eventually the techs cleared their throats.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jordan said. “But we do have to service the captain’s viper.”

“S’all right,” Apollo said dreamily. Then he snapped to attention. “Damn. Debriefing. Hold that thought,” he said to Starbuck. “I’ll want to pick up there, later.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Starbuck said. And for the first time in sectons he felt happy.

-=-

The battle adrenalin was well spent once Apollo and Starbuck finally found themselves alone in their quarters. But a few bare days later, Starbuck found himself with an overloaded system, and no place to vent. He’d sat through a briefing, blind fury coursing threw him, but was stymied by an icy Tigh who swore that he’d throw Starbuck in the brig if he made a fuss. “No one likes this plan,” Tigh said. “We’ll all make the best of it.”

“But I should be with him,” Starbuck had muttered rebelliously. It was bad enough that Boomer was part of the party. Worse still that Sheba was included. He could swear the woman had thrown him a look of triumph.

“But I should be with them,” Starbuck said again to a different audience. He discarded two and waited while Jolly dealt him his new cards.

“Huh.” Greenbean said. He sucked his teeth and studied his cards.

Jolly sighed. “It’s no use getting yourself all worked up. I realize you’re not used to being left out of these things, but me and Greenbean, we know how it goes.”

“You sit. You wait. You pretend to think of other things. And you fantasize about killing Cylons by the freightload,” Greenbean said. He bid two.

Starbuck tamped down his frustration and played for keeps, relishing Jolly and Greenbean’s groans.

“If you don’t lose the next hand,” Greenbean said. “I’m never playing with you again.”

Starbuck dutifully lost the next hand.

“I’m not sure whether I’m reassured or not,” Greenbean said.

“Two centares down, sixteen to go,” Jolly said, looking at his chronometer. “And, by the way, we have patrol.”

-=-

The next eighteen centares ticked by with agonizing slowness. Starbuck tried to bury himself in Red Squadron business that Boomer, currently occupied as he was, couldn’t deal with. And since that only took him a centare, he moved on to Strike Captain business. That took him a few centares more. In the margin of the schedule, Starbuck suggested that Blue and Red be moved on to the same rotation. If Apollo couldn’t see his way clear to that, he’d demand a transfer to Brown.

And as the eighteenth centare approached, Starbuck paced. And patrolled. And paced. And spent some time with Boxey, who assured him, repeatedly, that his dad would get the job done and come back safely. And paced some more, refusing attempts to distract him with card games or triad or any other thing that Jolly or Greenbean or anyone else could come up with. And finally, finally, Starbuck’s commlink chimed. “Yes? Yes, Colonel?” he said into it. A smile spread across his face. “Yes, sir. Thank you sir.” He turned to the waiting pilots. “Mission accomplished. The shuttle is coming into the landing bay now. All pilots accounted for.”

There was a simultaneous whoop of relief from all the pilots present in the OC

“And now for the joyous aftermath,” Jolly said, inserting his elbow into Starbuck’s side.

“What, you think I’m going to go down there and run into Apollo’s arms?” Starbuck said loftily, already pounding his way toward the lift, all the other pilots following on his heels.

“Well, aren’t you?” Jolly said. “C’mon. Big emotional reunion. Classic love story. The fairy-tale ending. So to speak,” he added hastily.

Greenbean snickered.

“No, thank you. I’ll just saunter down there, congratulate my fellow pilots,” Starbuck said. He leaned back against the lift wall, trying for a casual manner he knew wouldn’t fool anyone. It was the only way he knew to control the knots writhing in his stomach. Unfortunately, the press of pilots around him just a few scant centons later meant that he had to straighten up and fight for space to breathe.

Once the lift opened into the landing bay, he cursed the fact that he’d been the first to board it. Pushing his way past the other pilots, he saw that joyful reunions were, indeed, already being enacted between the returning heroes and their loved ones. Including Apollo. Adama stood arm-in-arm with Sheba and was looking at Apollo proudly, while Boxey had his arms clutched ’round his father in a paroxysm of joy. Apollo smiled down at his son, then looked up to grin at a comment another pilot had made. And then Sheba stepped forward and slipped a hand into the crook of Apollo’s arm and said something to Adama, who smiled down at her.

Starbuck caught himself, poised to surge forward. The tableau. Apollo and Sheba and Boxey, with Adama looking approvingly on.

Slowly, Starbuck walked toward the group. Stopped. Waited till he was noticed.

“Starbuck,” Boxey shrieked, launching himself into his arms, “Dad’s back. They did it!”

“I see that,” Starbuck murmured, holding Boxey close. “Hey, Apollo.”

Apollo looked momentarily confused by the low-key welcome, but then said jubilantly, “Well, Boxey’s right. We did do it.”

“Congratulations.” Starbuck hovered indecisively. Should he step forward, fling his arms around Apollo? But the commander’s presence was inhibitive, and he’d already lost all forward momentum. He stood there, inert.

“Star?” Apollo said, taking a few steps closer.

“Apollo,” Starbuck said, reaching out a hand to latch onto the other man’s sleeve. Oh, what the hell, he thought, and tugged. Apollo came the few steps closer and Starbuck enfolded him in an embrace and held on tight.

“Star,” Apollo said more softly. “You okay?”

“Much better now that you’re back,” Starbuck said. He blinked back the tears that threatened, then stepped back from Apollo and smiled. “So,” he said brightly, ignoring Sheba who was smiling at him insincerely, and the commander, who seemed unsurprised, “I bet you’re going to insist that I take you to the OC so that I can buy you a drink and you can tell us all about it.”

Apollo laughed. “Yes. I am.”

-=-

Starbuck and Athena shepherded Boxey home while Apollo went to his debriefing, and Starbuck settled the boy into bed.

“I’m glad my dad’s back,” Boxey said, looking up into Starbuck’s face.

“So am I kiddo.”

Boxey nodded and snuggled down into his blankets. “Good night, Starbuck. I love you.”

Starbuck brushed his hand over Boxey’s forehead. “Love you, too.” Boxey closed his eyes and Starbuck stood, then rose and walked to the door.

“I’ll watch him,” Athena said quietly from the couch. “You go meet Apollo for that drink.”

“Mmm.” Starbuck said. Then he flashed her a properly appreciative smile. “Thanks, I’ll do that.” He left Apollo’s living quarters and walked toward the OC, glad to be away from her intent gaze.

He walked into the bar to find Apollo the center of a carousing throng. This time, however, the crowd’s joy was unfeigned. Starbuck moved forward, sidestepping, slipping through the press of bodies, until he finally reached Apollo’s side.

“Star!” Apollo crowed. “You made it!”

Starbuck slid his hand into Apollo’s own, twined their fingers tightly. Apollo pressed back, but then said, “You need a drink.”

Starbuck shook his head, negating that statement, but Apollo had already turned to the bartender.

“Here,” Apollo said a few centons later, pressing a drink into Starbuck’s hand.

Starbuck sipped the ambrosa dutifully.

“So,” a woman’s voice called, “how did you manage to get off before it blew up?”

Apollo straightened, turned toward the Dietra, and picked up the narrative where, apparently, he’d left it off before Starbuck made his presence known. Starbuck’s heart clenched at the close calls Apollo had had. That they’d all had. Starbuck searched the crowd with his eyes, looking for Boomer. But Boomer, apparently, had chosen to spend the time with his girlfriend. Alone.

Apollo finished off the story and the sea of people rose and changed like the tide. A new group demanded to hear the story, and Apollo began again.

But before he could start on a third, Starbuck reached for his hand and tugged. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

Apollo blinked down at Starbuck, slightly befuddled with the ambrosa. The returning hero had barely had to see his glass dip to half-full before someone ordered him a new one.

“Home,” Apollo said with a grin. “Sorry boys and girls,” he said to the crowd, “Starbuck wants to take me home.”

The crowd laughed in appreciation of Apollo’s salacious tones, and parted to let them men through. Apollo wound an arm around Starbuck’s waist, staggering slightly.

“You need your bed,” Starbuck said, almost to himself.

“Mmm. With you in it,” Apollo returned.

Starbuck sighed and hoisted Apollo into the lift, propping him gently in a corner, and then helping him out again, down the corridor, and into the living quarters.

Athena greeted them with one raised eyebrow.

“I need to put him to bed.”

“Obviously,” Athena agreed.

Starbuck directed Apollo into the bedroom, hoping that Boxey wouldn’t choose this moment to wake up and ask to see his father. Once inside, he let Apollo’s nearly insensible body fall to the mattress.

“Home at last,” Apollo murmured.

“Something like that, ’Pol,” Starbuck agreed. Then he began the process of peeling Apollo’s clothes off his body, then inserting him under the bedclothes. “Be back in a second.”

Athena was still on the couch when he exited. “Everything all right?” she asked.

“He’s three sheets to the wind,” Starbuck said as he headed into the flush to grab a few pain relievers. Then it was to the cooler to get a glass of chilled water.

“Are you all right?”

Starbuck stopped along his path to the bedroom door. “Me? I’m... what is it the doctors say, Thenie? As well as can be expected.” He tried to suppress the bitter laugh that emerged.

“Look, Apollo’s trying -- ” Athena said.

Starbuck cut her off. “I know he’s trying,” he replied. “But he’s trying too hard.” Trying too hard because he wants out, he told himself, and then felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. Ouch.

“Starbuck -- “

“It’s okay,” Starbuck said. “I can take it from here. “Night, Athena,” he finished firmly.

“Good night Starbuck.”

As Starbuck entered the bedroom he heard the door to the living quarters swish gently open and closed again as Athena left. Then he approached Apollo.

“Time for your medicine, little boy,” he said.

“Mmmf?”

“You’re going to have a bear of a headache tomorrow, Apollo. Here take this.” Gently he inserted an arm under Apollo’s shoulders and lifted him, touching the glass to his lips.

Apollo drank deeply, and then Starbuck fed him the pain pills. “Okay, a little more water, and you’re done.”

Apollo fell back to the bed, muttering slightly in complaint, but was soon insensible again. Quietly Starbuck dimmed the lights, removed his own clothes, and slid into bed. Then, after a long moment, he drew Apollo’s body to him, curled around it closely, and closed his eyes.

-=-

The next morning Starbuck awoke to an empty bed. Out in the living quarters he could hear Boxey’s bright chatter and Apollo’s murmured responses. For a moment he lay in the bed, listening, then rose, donned casual clothes, and joined them.

Boxey was still in transports of delight, with Apollo sitting next to him as he fired off questions about the mission. Apollo replied to each, attentive to his son. To the untrained eye, Apollo seemed unaffected by either the stressful mission or his indulgence the previous night. But Starbuck could see it, and that Apollo was doing his best to hide it from Boxey.

Plastering a smile on his face, Starbuck approached the table. “Morning,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Apollo’s head, then Boxey’s.

“Dad’s telling me all about what happened on the base star.”

“Pretty exciting stuff, huh?” Starbuck said. He grabbed a mug from the kitchen counter, poured himself some caff, and returned to sit at the table.

“Yup.” Boxey grinned proudly, then looked expectantly back at his father.

Starbuck sipped his drink and listened, only moving to grab some breakfast before returning and listening to the interplay between father and son. It was a companionable experience. Comforting. He rested one foot against Apollo’s leg, and every few centons or so, Apollo would reach to stroke to stroke a finger across the back of Starbuck’s hand.

Reluctantly, he stood up from the table. “Have patrol,” he said as he moved toward the bedroom. “You enjoy your leave,” he instructed Apollo. “And you... don’t let him get into any trouble now that he’s back with us, safe and sound.” Boxey giggled and Apollo smiled.

As Starbuck went to leave, Apollo stood to see him off at the door. “Don’t think I’m going to forget that you owe me,” he whispered.

“Owe you?” Starbuck said blankly.

“Yup. Got too drunk last night to demand a proper hero’s welcome.”

“Right,” Starbuck said. “Right.” And the sense of companionship, of family, disappeared like a wisp of smoke in a strong breeze.

-=-

When he returned from patrol, it was nearly time for Boxey to go to bed. Boxey, overtired from the stress of his father being away, and the excitement of his return, was on the verge of a tantrum. Apollo, too, was tired, and was struggling not to let the edge of his temper show.

“Hey, Boxey. What do you say we give your dad’s vocal cords a rest and I read you a chapter or two of that story we started?”

Boxey began to pout and Starbuck pretended to look mildly hurt. “You don’t like that one? Sorry, thought you would. Do you want to see whether we can find a new story to download on to your reader?”

“No, I like it,” Boxey said. “You said you had read it, when you were my age.”

“I did,” Starbuck affirmed. Which was the actual truth. There hadn’t been much reading material at the orphanage, but somehow he’d managed to get his hands on a book -- an actual book, with pages. It had been destroyed in the end -- a casualty of the battles over what few possessions each orphan managed to acquire.

“Let’s let your dad listen, too,” Starbuck suggested. “Only maybe you should get your sleep-clothes on and get into bed first. And then you can tell your dad what’s happened so far.”

Boxey stood, considering. “Okay,” He said and ran to his room, emerging wearing his pajamas, and then headed to the turboflush.

“Thank you,” Apollo mouthed.

“No problem.” Starbuck smiled, glad to have been able to help keep domestic harmony and spare both Apollo and Boxey the stress of a scene.

There was a long moment of companionable silence, broken only by the sound of Boxey’s energetic teeth brushing, heard through the open turboflush door. “So what’s this book you’re reading?” Apollo asked.

“Starbuck, I’m going to tell him.” Boxey had exited the turboflush and once more looked poised on the verge of a temper tantrum.

Starbuck held up a hand. “I know, kiddo. Don’t worry. Now, scoot. Bed.”

Boxey padded toward his room, and Starbuck and Apollo followed.

“So,” Boxey began importantly, sliding into bed. “Dad, you have to pay attention.”

Apollo obligingly perched on the edge of the bed while Starbuck sat in the armchair.

“It’s about a boy -- his name is Brian -- and he’s on a shuttle,” Boxey explained. “He’s on his way to visit his grandparents only the shuttle crashes, and everyone’s killed. ’Cept him. And there’s not much left of the shuttle, only, he has a hatchet that his dad had given him because he was going to visit his grandparents on a wild planet. You use hatchets to chop things down, like trees. And so he chops down some trees and builds, like, a little lean-to. Lean-to’s have a sort of sloping roof and is open on the side where the roof is highest. He builds it between two trees. And he lives there. But...”

Boxey’s explanation derailed over minute details and Starbuck gently guided him back on course until Boxey finally said “and that’s where we stopped, the night before you came back.”

Apollo nodded seriously and then both he and Boxey turned to look at Starbuck.

“Right,” Starbuck said. “We’re now at the beginning of chapter six. One chapter tonight, okay, Boxey?” He picked up the reader from Boxey’s bedside table.

“Two,” Boxey bargained.

Starbuck raised an eyebrow.

Boxey exhaled his breath in the heavy sigh of the much-put-upon. “Okay.”

“Good. So...” Starbuck read steadily and reached the end of the chapter.

“But the tornado destroyed his home,” Boxey said. “Couldn’t we read the next chapter to see if he rebuilds it?”

“And the one after that and the one after that?” Starbuck replied.

Boxey held his worried face for a moment longer before it morphed into an impish grin.

“Can’t con a con artist, kid,” Starbuck said, leaning down to tug the blankets up more securely around Boxey’s shoulders. “Night. And go to sleep,” he finished with a mock-glare, tousling Boxey’s hair.

Apollo leaned down to kiss Boxey goodnight and Boxey reached up to hug him fiercely. “Love you, Dad,” Boxey murmured.

“Love you too, Boxey,” Apollo said.

Starbuck, watching the two embrace, felt his heart ache.

-=-

Starbuck exited Boxey’s room and sat down on the couch with a sigh. Apollo sat next to him. Reaching an arm out, Starbuck encircled Apollo’s shoulder and pulled the other man to lean against Starbuck’s chest. Starbuck stroked Apollo’s hair gently, the strands soft against his fingers. For long moments, silence reigned. Starbuck let his head fall back against the couch back and closed his eyes.

After a few more moments Apollo twitched, then pulled away. Starbuck looked up questioningly and Apollo smiled down at him, then pressed a passionate kiss to Starbuck’s lips.

Starbuck tried to gentle the kiss, maneuver Apollo back into the quiet resting position so that they could enjoy just those few centons more of quiet, of peace. But Apollo wasn’t having any of it and changed the tenor of his kisses from passionate to seductive.

“C’mon, Star. Aren’t you going to show me how glad you are that I’m home?”

I was trying to, Starbuck thought bleakly. But he smiled gamely up into Apollo’s face, determined to give Apollo the kind of attention he wanted. The attraction was always there, just beneath the surface, but once they lay side-by-side in Apollo’s bed, Starbuck felt empty. And he was certain that Apollo felt the lack, too, because they both lay silent, separate.

Rolling onto his side, Starbuck tried to bridge the gap. “Tired?” he asked softly, his fingers drawn to caress Apollo’s hair again.

“Exhausted. You wore me out,” Apollo replied.

“One Starbuck special, as requested.” The words left his mouth and he stiffened. Did the words sound as bitter to Apollo as they had to Starbuck?

Apollo didn’t seem to react, but the atmosphere seemed to grow reproachful. Starbuck lay quiet for a few moments longer, then rolled to his side, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Starbuck awoke the next morning to again hear Apollo and Boxey talking over the breakfast table. Boxey, he knew, was protesting the fact that he had instruction that day, and Apollo was having to be quite... firm... with him. Unlike the previous morning when he lay in bed enjoying the interaction from the bed, feeling like a part of it even though he was in the next room, he instead felt as if he were hiding. And unlike last night, he wouldn’t be able to dispel the tension between father and son. If anything, given the way he was feeling this morning, his presence would only make the situation worse.

Once the he heard the front door close behind Boxey, he rose, donned his flight gear and went out into the living area. “I slept too late,” he announced. “I’m going to have to get in gear so that Boomer doesn’t dress me down for making him wait in the launch tubes.”

Apollo nodded noncommittally.

“You back on patrol today or...?”

“Night shift. I won’t see you tonight. Sorry about that.”

“Boxey and I will be fine,” Starbuck said. “We have a few more chapters of that book to go so we’ll be able to keep occupied.”

“It’s nice of you. Reading to him, I mean.” Apollo sipped at his mug of caff. “He’ll demand it of you all the time now, though.”

“I’m happy to do it. Kids book aren’t all sappy pap. And I probably should have read more of ’em anyway. Maybe there’s still a chance they’ll do me some good.”

Apollo smiled. “What I’m trying to say is that... Well, you shouldn’t feel obligated.”

Starbuck’s gut contracted into a cold hard ball. “Obligated? What the...? Apollo, what are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Apollo said, “that you don’t owe me anything.”

“I don’t...” Starbuck swallowed hard. “Look, I don’t want to be late for patrol. I’ll talk to you later.”

Apollo just sat at the table and watched him go.

-=-

Boomer corralled Starbuck after patrol ended. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Starbuck just shook his head and headed back to Apollo’s living quarters.

“Talk to me, Starbuck. I haven’t seen you this on edge since...” Boomer’s voice trailed off.

“Since Apollo told me that he’d asked Sheba to seal with him and that they’d set a date?”

A strong hand grabbed Starbuck and pulled him to a halt. “You remember that?” Boomer asked fiercely.

Starbuck nodded sharply, shook himself out of Boomer’s grip, and continued onward.

“Wait a centon. Who knows? Does Apollo know?”

“Don’t talk to me about Apollo. Just don’t,” Starbuck said fiercely. “And shut up already because I can’t lose it right now. I don’t want to upset Boxey.”

Boomer fell silent but trailed Starbuck to Apollo’s quarters. Starbuck, upon entering, was surprised to see Athena there. “Oh, hey,” Starbuck said, trying for a casual tone. “Did Kim get sick?”

“No. Ah...” Athena looked uncomfortable. “Apollo thought you might have other plans for tonight.”

“He -- ” Starbuck clamped down on his frustrated shout. “Huh,” he said instead. “We must have gotten our signals crossed somewhere. I can take it from here.” He smiled at Boxey, who was looking at him owlishly. “Look, Boomer’s come for a visit, too. Why don’t you challenge him to a vid game -- the one we got you for your birthday.”

“Okay,” Boxey said after a moment. “It’s a really good game, Boomer. Let me show you.”

Boomer and Boxey disappeared into Boxey’s room, and after a long moment, Athena made her way out of the living quarters. With a background of exclamations and battle noises, Starbuck busied himself picking up, gathering laundry, making dinner. Eventually Boomer arose reappeared, looking exhausted, and Boxey, triumphant.

“What’s for dinner?” Boxey demanded. “Ick, brockflower,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Eat your veg,” Starbuck said automatically.

Conversation during the meal was directed by Boxey, who demanded to know Boomer’s side of the story with regard to the destruction of the base star. And then, when Boomer showed no sign of budging, a quick shower for Boxey followed by another chapter of Hatchet.

And then, after seeing Boxey settled in for the night, Starbuck went reluctantly to face Boomer.

“What’s wrong?” Boomer asked after Starbuck had shut the door to Boxey’s room.

“What’s right?” Starbuck responded.

“All the anxiety over getting the two of you together, the least you two could do is stay that way.” Boomer smiled but his eyes were anxious.

Starbuck sat on the couch and rubbed at his own eyes. “I just don’t think we want the same things, Boomer.”

“Do you know what you want?”

“I want Apollo. The Apollo I remember.” Starbuck sighed. “But of course, since I can’t quite trust my memories anymore, maybe he’s just an Apollo I invented out of my own head.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Talked to him since he told me this morning that I’m under no ‘obligation’ to him?” Starbuck laughed harshly. “No, I was on patrol, now he is. And obviously he expected that he’d given me enough of a hint so that I wouldn’t darken his door ever again.”

“The two of you,” Boomer groaned. “You’re impossible. It should work, it really should, but it’s always one step forward and two steps back.”

“And whose fault is that?” Starbuck demanded. “Are you saying -- “

“Whoa. Whoa. Sorry.” Boomer waved his hands. “I’m not laying any blame on your doorstep, Starbuck.”

“Good,” Starbuck said, not really appeased.

“Look, you and Apollo need to talk. And Apollo, being Apollo, is going to try to avoid talking for as long as possible. So I, as your squadron leader, am telling you that you have come down with a virus that will render you unfit for duty tomorrow. A twenty-four centare thing, you understand? And then it’s back to patrol on sixthday.”

Starbuck nodded. “Thanks, Boomer.”

“You’re welcome.”

-=-

Starbuck went to bed that early that night, determined to ignore his anxiety about the coming confrontation and get a good night’s sleep. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Apollo, coming in that night after patrol, would be pleased to find Starbuck in his bed, after all.

The next morning he awoke to the familiar sound of Apollo readying Boxey for instruction. Again, Starbuck waited for Boxey to leave before rising. But then he just donned a sleep-robe and wandered out into the living area.

“Morning,” he said. He walked past Apollo, gathered himself a mug of caff, then sat himself on the couch. Apollo, he noticed, looked tired. Was again avoiding looking at him.

“I want to know,” Starbuck began conversationally, “what the frack you meant by telling me I was under no obligation to you.” Apollo started when Starbuck lost control of his voice and practically yelled the end of the sentence.

“The only thing I can figure,” Starbuck continued, carefully moderating his voice, “is that you consider your obligation to me ended. Because, so far as I can see, you only began this relationship out of a misplaced sense of guilt. But my injury, Apollo,” Starbuck tapped his head. “It’s part of the job. We all risk life and limb every time we launch our vipers. Maybe if we hadn’t broken up, I wouldn’t have had that accident. But maybe I would have. Who knows? At any rate,” Starbuck finished, “if you want out, it’s on you. Don’t pretend this is about me.”

“You’re telling me that you’re happy?” Apollo said. “I think you’re the one pretending. You’re tired of me, Starbuck.”

“Tired of you?” Starbuck said incredulously. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t remember what it was like before. What we were like,” Apollo explained patiently. “We had to hide, grab our chances where we could.”

Starbuck blinked back fury. “Okay, maybe my memory is faulty, but I’ve gotten flashes. Enough to know that yes, I made the most of every opportunity I had with you. But I wanted more. I always wanted more. I just never thought I would get it. And let me remind you that ‘we’ had to hide because ‘you’ never seemed to want a real relationship. One that everyone knew about.”

Apollo’s eyes had gone wide at the revelation that Starbuck remembered at least some of their past. But Starbuck’s accusation made him shoot back. “So you never liked sneaking around. Fine. But now you have it -- the open relationship. Everyone knows about us, Starbuck and you’re no happier.”

Starbuck made noises of denial but Apollo continued on. “You disappear into yourself. More than I think you realize. You just sit back and watch. And the one thing we had, Starbuck, the one thing we always, always had...”

Starbuck waited, knowing what was coming.

“Great sex,” Apollo finally said. “Amazing, incendiary sex. But the other night -- every other time we got back from a mission it was -- we couldn’t keep our hands off one another. But the first night goes by and the second night I practically have to drag you off by your hair.”

“So, that’s all we’re about?” Starbuck pushed down the pain. “Sex?”

“I didn’t mean that. But it’s a sign of the health of our relationship. I always said that the day you were reluctant to bed me would be the day our relationship was over.”

“Apollo, you were the one who decided that we needed to party it up at the OC club that night. Not my fault I couldn’t give you that ‘hero’s welcome’ when you could barely stand upright, let alone...”

“And the second night?”

“If we could have gone slowly,” Starbuck said. “It felt... off, to me. I just wanted to lie on that couch and hold you and suddenly you were enacting a seduction scene.”

Apollo looked back at him. “Starbuck, I just don’t think you ever really wanted a domestic life. I think trying to force yourself into that mold is...”

“What are you talking about?” Starbuck raged. “Maybe I never sang the praises of domesticity, but I know I’ve always wanted family. For fracks’ sake, you knew that, too. Maybe you’re the one who longs for the excitement we got out of running around hiding all the time. I always thought I was the adrenalin junkie, but it maybe it’s you.”

The green eyes looked at him steadily. “I tried to give you what you want, Starbuck. You are the adrenalin junkie. Always have been. And so I tried to make sure you got your fix. For the past sectons you’ve been behaving more and more like your old self -- I knew it wouldn’t be long before...”

“Before what?”

“Before I wasn’t enough for you anymore.”

“Meaning that I was going to leave you. That like Chameleon I would disappear and return when it was convenient, and then... Well that’s just great,” Starbuck said bitterly. “The sins of the father. Like father, like son. Or something. Do you remember telling me that I wasn’t like Chameleon? Underneath? Except that you really don’t believe that, do you?”

Starbuck looked around the living quarters, trying to find something to vent his anger on. “Lords, I don’t know who you’ve been having a relationship with these past few sectares, but it isn’t me. It’s someone out of your imagination. And I thought that I was the one whose head was screwed up.”

A long silence fell. Apollo finally broke it, asking, “Don’t you have patrol?”

“Nope,” Starbuck replied. “Boomer told me I’d come down with a twenty-four centare virus, and that I should use the time to straighten things out with you.”

“Ah,” Apollo replied.

“So where do we go from here?” Starbuck asked. “What do you want? What do you really want?”

“I want you to be happy, Star,” Apollo said, his voice suddenly soft. “I truly do.”

“Then believe me when I tell you that you have the power to make me happy. You do, ’Pol. You just have to trust that I know what I want.”

Apollo hesitated.

“Or is that the real problem. That you can’t trust me?” Starbuck felt unutterably weary.

“Why didn’t you tell me your memories were coming back?”

“A lot of them had to do with battles. Fights with the Cylons. And a lot of what I remembered of our relationship concerned Sheba. Who supposedly isn’t an issue anymore.”

“She’s not. She’s really not. She... when I postponed the wedding I got a taste of what she can be like, and when I called it off it was worse. No matter what happens between us, Starbuck, there will never be anything between us ever again.”

“And yet there she was, slipping her arm through yours when you got back from the base star. The happy family all together,” Starbuck said bitterly.

“I didn’t even notice,” Apollo said softly. “So that’s why...”

Starbuck nodded sharply. “I have a question, Apollo. And I need you to answer it honestly.”

Apollo opened his mouth to protest, but then simply nodded.

“If you wanted a relationship with anyone other than me. Would you make it so very public? Would you engage in all those displays of affection in front of all the squadrons?”

“No,” Apollo finally replied. “No, I probably wouldn’t.”

“And whether I remembered you or not, I knew that. Knew it wasn’t you. So I couldn’t help but think -- can’t help but think -- that you were doing what you thought was right and not what you wanted.”

Apollo crossed to the couch and sat down. “Sit, Starbuck.” Starbuck reluctantly sat and braced himself for what Apollo would say.

“So what you’re saying,” Apollo said, “is that I screwed this up from beginning to end.”

“What I’m saying,” Starbuck replied, some of the tension easing from his body, “is that you’ve confused the hell out of me. Going from acting like you hated me to seducing me to parading me around the _Galactica_ like a harem boy. It was all so extreme. Guilt was the only explanation that made any sense. That still makes any sense.”

“Not guilt. Fear. When you first woke up,” Apollo said slowly, “your eyes opened and I thought ‘this is your last chance to get it right.’ And then you didn’t know me. And every time I came back, we had to be reintroduced all over again. Days of that, two, three times each day. I gave up hoping that I would walk into your room and that you would look up and smile, knowing it was me. And by the time you finally did recognize me, you weren’t smiling.”

“And you were looking at me as if I were some sort of lab experiment. Lords, I’m sorry, Apollo.”

“Wasn’t your fault. And when you couldn’t remember how to play pyramid? Looking at the cards as if you were trying to decipher a foreign language? You weren’t dead, not physically, but I felt like I’d killed you. And that just about killed me.”

“Apollo,” Starbuck said softly. Tentatively he reached out an arm and drew Apollo to him.

“Then you started coming back. Flashes of you. And then it seemed you might remember, if even just a little. And that you still wanted me. So I tried to give you what I thought you would come to want. Didn’t think that you’d want to give up gambling and carousing entirely. But I thought, if I could do it with you...”

“Apollo, shhh. Apollo.” For a long moment Starbuck cradled his lover in his arms. “I always wanted a relationship -- a real relationship -- with you. But finding out Chameleon is my father? The gambling, the womanizing.” Starbuck shook his head. “I don’t want to become him. Don’t want to be the elegant elderly gentleman wandering the bars and casinos looking for a mark, or the sad old man living in a single room wearing baggy sleepwear.”

To Starbuck’s surprise, Apollo gave a snort of laughter. “So you have a horror of wearing ill-fitting clothes? No, no, I think I understand,” he said over Starbuck’s denials.

“Do you?” Starbuck asked. “I don’t want to be like that again. Don’t want to have a happy-go-lucky exterior and then have all these things on the inside that no one ever sees. Want you to see me, ’Pol. I’ve been trying to show you but it seemed like that’s not what you wanted. That you wanted the old Starbuck back, not this new improved version.” Starbuck tried to finish in a light tone, hoping that both he and Apollo could work dispel the tense atmosphere.

Apollo slid a hand over one of Starbuck’s and settled himself more firmly in Starbuck’s embrace. “So the new improved Starbuck is content to just sit here and hold me.”

“More than content,” Starbuck said. He brought up his free hand to card Apollo’s hair.

“Good, because I’m exhausted. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Then you sleep. Do you want to claim to have caught my twenty-four centare virus?”

“No, can’t. Besides, it seems an unfair way to reward poor Boomer. He’d end up subbing in for me.”

Starbuck laughed softly. “My dutiful Apollo.”

Apollo smiled slightly, closed his eyes, and in a few moments was sound asleep.

-=-

Epilog

Starbuck emitted a long “hmmm” of contentment. Beneath him, Apollo grunted a response, rubbing his face against the pillow.

“I’m glad I took your advice,” Apollo said.

Starbuck, still hazy with afterglow, said, “You should always take my advice.” Then, waking up a bit more he said, “What advice?”

Apollo snickered. Starbuck slid off Apollo’s back and Apollo rolled to face him.

“The day we hashed everything -- well, most things -- out?” Apollo reached out and stroked a finger down Starbuck’s chest

Starbuck nodded, shivering slightly at the tickly sensation.

“Well, I was going through my papers and saw that someone had scrawled some helpful notes -- something about moving a certain pilot to Brown.”

“Ah,” Starbuck said. “I’ll have to thank that helpful person. It’s much nicer having our schedules match up 90 percent of the time rather than 10 percent.”

“It was at least 45 percent,” Apollo said with a poke.

“Ha,” Starbuck said. He shifted his body encouragingly, hoping Apollo would continue his caresses. Apollo obligingly started up again.

“Anyway, I think that helpful person should get a reward from you, too.”

“You just had it.”

“No. If that was my reward, I should have known that going in. Ah, so to speak. I might have done things differently.”

“I wouldn’t have advised that,” Apollo said.

“Well, of course,” Starbuck replied smugly. “But still.”

“Still what?”

“Still love you.”

“Me too.” Apollo held Starbuck’s eyes for a long moment. And then they both winced when they heard a loud bang from the living area.

“Heathen child,” Starbuck muttered.

“He’s learned not to come bounding in here, at least,” Apollo said.

Starbuck snickered. “All right. Let’s get up and make the poor long-suffering lad some breakfast.”

“I swear he gets up early now just to bug us.”

“Probably,” Starbuck agreed. “C’mon, ’Pol. Time to face the day. Besides he has instruction today, and we have the day off. We can gloat a bit, if you like.”

Apollo pursed his lips. “You’re on. And then, back to bed?” He slipped on his sleep robe and tied the belt neatly, tugging the collar to lay flat.

“If you insist.” Starbuck followed suit, pulling on his own sleep-robe. “After all, wouldn’t want you to think that I’m losing interest, would I?” He dodged Apollo’s swat. “Besides, there is still the matter of that reward.”

“I’ll give you a reward all right,” Apollo said mock-sternly.

“I’m counting on it.”

-=-

Fin


End file.
